The Dame of Baker Street
by Jade Author
Summary: A new girl moves into 221C Baker Street, and it infuriates Sherlock that he cannot read her. But when he finally begins to understand her, his enemy does as well-her good and bad sides. And what better way to bring him down than with what he doesn't know? Sherl/OC Rated T for some of the cases and for some psych triggers. Includes the Fall! The sequel is up, too-DBS:Mind Games
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.- CRAP. I said I wasn't going to post this until I finished my Jurassic Park sequel to my sequel (Triple+sequel=Treequel?) Oh well, please read and review! **

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 1

"Asphyxiation." The man said. "There are no signs of strangulation about the neck, so it was suffocation by another method. Most likely internal."

"But there's nothing in her mouth." His companion protested. The first man cast the other an irritated glance then directed his eyes to the corpse of the young woman on the floor. He sighed agitatedly and knelt down.

"Look at the corners of her mouth. Crusted with bile. And look at the color of her lips, Lestrade; it's cyanosis." He pointed out.

"Yes and?" The other prompted. The man sat back on his heels and groaned.

"_So_\- pay attention; if she ingested a toxin that induced vomiting she would have rolled over or something to expel the bile, but instead choked on it because she couldn't. Why?" He tossed Lestrade a patronizing glance, waiting for the other man's response.

"Too weak?" He suggested. The first man pulled back the corpse's sleeve to reveal pink circles around the wrist.

"No, restrained. Someone had tied her down so she couldn't move, whether they meant for her to choke on her own vomit is another question entirely, but they moved the body here from the place where she was being kept prisoner to divert suspicion. I suggest you swab her mouth for chemical traces. Then run a check for pharmacies selling the drug."

"It's a drug?"

"No," The man pushed himself to his feet. "Just a chemical disguised as one. Good day, Detective Inspector." With that the man breezed out of the room, fastening a scarf about his neck and shrugging a coat onto his thin shoulders. He stepped out of the building without a glance at a shorter built man who had been waiting outside.

"Sherlock!" The man sprang to his feet and followed the thinner man down the street. "What did Lestrade say?" He prompted, "Did you solve it?"

"John, why did you wear that hideous tie today? It makes you look pasty." Sherlock said indifferently, ignoring the question. His companion, John tugged irritably at the silk knotted around his neck.

"You're avoiding the question, Sherlock." He said.

"Because its answer is obvious." The detective sighed as they continued down the street. "Bile collected at the corners of the mouth. Cyanosis in the lips, restraint marks on the wrists, paleness of the face-"

"A lot of dead people are pale, Sherlock."

"So they seem to be." The tall man stopped and leaned out into the street to flag a cab. Once he had successfully pulled one over he and John stepped into it immediately.

"221 Baker Street." Sherlock ordered the cabbie. The man nodded and started off. John sighed and stared out the window.

. . .

When the cab dropped the two off at Baker Street it had to park a ways down the road from the building to avoid being in the way of a medium sized moving van parked in front of Speedy's Diner. Sherlock and John both walked to the front step of 221 with Sherlock muttering under his breath about "no new neighbors for God's sake". His hopes were dashed when he saw movers carrying boxes into the apartment building instead of the neighboring restaurant. He huffed and drew his coat collar tighter around his neck. John followed him into the landing, where a girl was carrying a box down the hall to 221 C. She accidentally bumped into Sherlock as she made her way down the hall, brushing his elbow slightly as she passed.

"Watch where you're going." She said.

"You watch it." He growled back. The detective's eyes began immediately roaming over the person out of habit. She had blue eyes and mousy brown hair covered by a baseball cap. She seemed irritated with him, but he was more irritated that everything about her screamed "_**ordinary!**_" She stared at him for a moment before turning and continuing on her way down the hall. Sherlock frowned and climbed the stairs to the flat he shared with John, 221 B. Sherlock reclined into his leather chair by the fire and John walked to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea.

"So," He said, trying to start a conversation with his flatmate. "New neighbor, eh? Do you think it was that girl down there or was she just a mover?" Sherlock leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"I don't _know_, John. And I don't care. I'm unbelievably bored right now, and there's nothing to read." He groaned. John gave him a strained smile that bordered on irritability.

"Go pick something from your library." He gestured with a teabag towards the bookcase adorning the wall nearest them.

"You know what I meant, John." Sherlock complained, "And I've memorized them all anyway. There are no new people to read, they're much more intriguing than books." He sat forward quickly and braced his forearms on his knees. John was about to make a biting remark to his flatmate when their landlady, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.

"Oh sorry dears, am I interrupting anything?" She asked cordially.

"No."

"Yes."

The old woman frowned at the mixed responses but soon had a smile on her face again. "I think it would be just lovely if you two would go greet the new neighbor. She's just moved from somewhere out of country and I think you two would do well to go give her a welcome." Sherlock raised his head up swiftly.

"Her? It's a her?" Mrs. Hudson looked surprised, John just sipped his tea.

"Why yes, I don't see why you're-"The detective groaned and leaned back again.

"God, please don't tell me it's that boring girl from downstairs." He said. "She's useless."

"Her name is Madeline Carver," Mrs. Hudson said sternly, "From how you were talking it sounded like you were hoping for a neighbor to use in your experiments. Do be nice to her, won't you Sherlock?" She departed with a smile and friendly wave. John set his mug down.

"Well, you can sit here and sulk about your boredom. I'm going to go meet Miss Carver." He said finally, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts and heading for 221 C.

. . .

The paint on the door was cracked, but the door itself was propped open. John felt a little sheepish that he'd never actually visited the depths of 221 Baker Street, the farthest he'd ever gone was Mrs. Hudson's flat up the hall. Music spilling from the doorway was accompanied by loud singing, so John knocked on the door hard to get his neighbor's attention before entering. The singing stopped and after a minute the music followed it as someone shuffled to the door.

"Oh hi," The girl said quickly; pushing strands of her hair out of her face and trying to restrain them in a ponytail. John had a fleeting image of an angry cat's tail growing out of the back of her head, but the resemblance to crazy cat women and their pets ended there.

She had pale skin, and freckles dotted her nose and cheekbones like snow. Her eyes were a nice plain blue, easy enough to match with her brown hair. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. It took John a moment to realize he was staring and offered his hand to the girl courteously.

"Hello, I'm Dr. John Watson. I uh, live upstairs in 221 B with my flatmate." He said. Her face twisted into a sour look like she'd eaten a lemon at the mention of John's roommate.

"I remember him." She said, "He and I bumped into each other earlier. You were there, too I think." He laughed.

"Yeah, Sherlock kind of gets that kind of reputation with people. Don't take him too seriously, though." John said. The girl studied him quietly for a second before remembering herself and sticking out her hand.

"Sorry, I'm Madeline Carver. I just moved here from America." She stated. John nodded, he'd noticed her strange, almost flat accent when she'd first spoken to him. They stood there awkwardly in the doorway until John spoke up again.

"So is your unpacking going well?" He asked. Madeline threw one glance behind her into the flat cluttered with boxes that had been scribbled on hastily with markers.

"It's good. I'll just have to get some help moving my lab equipment." She said, turning back to the doctor, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Could you help me carry it up?" She asked him. John found himself nodding his assent as she led him back to the landing of the building. Three boxes lay in a perfect line pressed up against a wall. They looked small enough, but John bent down to pick one up he almost doubled over.

"It's like- a ton of bricks." He huffed.

. . .

After hauling the boxes down the hallway to 221 C and stacking them by the wall Madeline had directed him to John stood and stretched with a groan.

"Hey, Madeline you wouldn't mind having a cup of tea with me in my flat, would you?" He asked.

"Only if your roommate won't mind." She countered. He shook his head, and she followed him up the rickety staircase to 221 B Baker Street. When Madeline stepped inside her senses were overwhelmed with the smell of smoke and chemicals. She staggered backwards, eyes watering but John walked in ahead of her.

"Seriously, Sherlock now you choose to pull out all of your experiments?" He reprimanded the tall man bent over a table in the kitchen. He looked up at John and the unwanted guest in annoyance, and Madeline was struck by the color of his eyes. They were a pale blue, like ice. The eyes darted over her for a second, and Madeline had the strong feeling he was judging her. Sherlock simply grunted at turned back to his experiment.

"Sherlock, we have a guest." John said in annoyance. "Could you please put your things away?" He strode to the far side of the room and slid the window open, letting some of the cigar smoke fade out. Sherlock scowled and began to slowly put away his project while John readied tea. Madeline stood awkwardly in the living room until John leaned out of the kitchen and smiled at her.

"You can just take a seat anywhere." He said. She smiled back at him and sat in a comfortable looking leather chair by the fireplace. Sherlock passed her carrying a tray of petri dishes and stopped short.

"Out of my chair." He said before continuing on down the hallway to another room. Madeline stood and went to sit in the kitchen with John, who was being much more hospitable than his flatmate. He handed her a cup of warm tea with a matching smile.

"Don't be too bothered by him. He's always a bit of an, um…"

"An ass?" She supplied carefully. John snickered with her until Sherlock reemerged from the hall.

"What do you want?" He said bitingly. Madeline marched firmly up to the detective and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Madeline Carver," She said, "Your new neighbor." He stared at her hand distastefully for a moment then spun around and retreated back down the hallway. John watched him go with a small smirk.

"That's good. Normally he would have said some biting remark. Don't know why he didn't-"

"She's boring, John." Sherlock called up the hallway.

"I try my best." Madeline said smartly before John could scold his flatmate. She set her tea down in the kitchen and smiled warmly. "Thank you for the tea, Dr. Watson-"

"You can just call me John," The doctor said. Her smile grew bigger.

"Thank you for the tea, John. I think I'll be heading back to my apartment and finish unpacking." She gave a small wave and went to the door.

"Um, if you need any help moving your- lab equipment anymore just ask." John called after her. She turned and looked back at him with a small smile.

"I will, then. Goodnight, Mr. Holmes!" She called into the flat. Sherlock's muffled cursing carried through the walls as she left for her own rooms.

"God I really hate that man." She murmured as she stepped down the stairs.

. . .

"What's wrong with you today, Sherlock?"

"I don't know, what's wrong with you?"

"Don't be childish, you've been being more of an ass than usual. I get you're bored, so just take a bloody case, already." John glared at his flatmate who didn't seem to care in the least what was going on. "Are you frustrated?" He asked the detective. Sherlock paused from his pacing on the carpet and glared at him.

"Why would I be frustrated. Everything's fine. Totally fine. There's no reason for me to be upset." He muttered. John rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"Look, you need to sort yourself out quickly. You're completely unbearable when you're like this." He said. Sherlock frowned and resumed pacing.

"Is it because you couldn't read Madeline?" John said suddenly. "You get like this when you don't know something."

"I do know everything, John; shut up." Sherlock snapped. John tapped his temple thoughtfully.

"Obviously not, you've been complaining since you passed her in the stairwell. Admit it, you can't read her." He said.

"Of course I can."

"No you can't."

"Can."

"Can't."

"_Can_-"

"Boys, please keep it down! We ladies need our beauty sleep! Try to restrain yourselves." Mrs. Hudson's voice echoed from the bottom of the stairwell. Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation.

"We're not gay, Mrs. Hudson." John called back to her for the umpteenth time. He heard her hum a disbelieving noise and return to her rooms. He rolled his eyes and leaned towards his flatmate.

"How about you actually talk to her, try not to be a git and actually get to know her. That's what normal people do instead of reading others. They talk." He suggested. Sherlock wrinkled his nose irately.

"That's what _normal_ people do, John."

"Then opt for normalcy for once." The doctor said firmly before rising and going to the door of his bedroom.

"Go talk to her tomorrow, Sherlock; and I swear if you start playing your violin at two in the morning I will come into your room and-"

"Restraint, you two!" Mrs. Hudson called.

"Not gay!" John responded before continuing. "-I will smother you." He said in a lower tone to his flatmate. "Go to sleep, Sherlock." With that he left. Sherlock kept pacing until he heard John's door close, then he made his way over to his chair and sank down into it. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, reimagining Madeline Carver when he'd assessed her the second time that afternoon. Her sleeves had been rolled up, and her hair had been held back from her face in a ponytail. His mind traveled over the image fiercely, trying desperately to find something about her. Not being able to see something about someone infuriated him to no end. His mind was tracing over her pant legs for any traces of dirt, paints or animal hairs when something nagged at the back of his thoughts. He zoomed out of the image and assessed what was blatantly obvious. She stood with one wrist clutched in the other, insecure and obviously American, but the way she held herself close and small brought into detail something on her skin. Sherlock furrowed his brow as he examined the skin of her arm closely.

A mark.

And not a normal mark.

_Alright then, Miss Carver._ The detective thought, _maybe you're not as mysterious as I thought._

**A.N.- I don't like how this chapter ended, but I love the other scenes I've got planned out! Oh my GOSH they're fantastic! I felt like there was a lot of John/OC in this chapter when it should RIGHTFULLY be Sherl/OC (whomever decided on that pairing name is a genius, hats off to you). Please review, I'm going to wrap Jurassic Park Rewritten 2 and start devoting myself fully to this one! Whoo!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.- New chapter! Jurassic Park: Rewritten, 2 is DONE. And I ended it on a fluffy note. I keep on wanting to make Sherlock like my other male characters my OC's get shipped with, but he's not like any of them so I have to constantly keep reining myself in from the fluffy sweet stuff. He did learn a little more about Madeline in this chapter, but not about her arms yet. It won't be some big reveal, I'll tell you that: I've been experimenting with low-key OC's who **_**don't**_** know martial arts and how to throw knives and stuff with military/ street/ rough backgrounds who are ordinary but still complex…. Yeah, working on it.**

**Sam- Thank you! I'm glad you think so, that's why I keep writing (even when I think a story is bad) because others think it's good. 3**

**PomegraniteAndBooks- Thank you for your support. As promised, here's the next update. ;)**

**Aroochick- I tried to input some good dialogue between John and Sherlock, I've got other arguments and scenes between them written up already waiting to be inserted but there will be NO JohnLock, just characters that think there is. XD**

**ZtZ: You're so nice, this is like the fourth story you've commended me on! **

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 2

Madeline was awoken the next morning by a loud banging at her front door. She stumbled out of bed in the clothes she'd worn the day before, bleary eyed and tired. The banging became more insistent as she shuffled to the door, rubbing at her face to coax herself fully awake.

"What, what?" She mumbled as she opened the door. A coat and scarf clad Sherlock Holmes strode past her without so much as a glance.

"Good morning, Miss Carver. I trust you slept well?"

"I-"

"Good." The detective said, stopping in the middle of the flat to survey the boxes that were half unpacked and pushed against the walls in what he deduced were categories.

_So she's organized._

His blue eyes turned to Madeline, who was yawning and trying to tease her bed head to lie flat. It was irritating at how few words sprang out at him.

_** Shy.**_

_** Tired.**_

_** Annoyed.**_

_** Avid reader.**_

_** Uses glasses or contacts.**_

_** Tempermental.**_

__Out of all the obvious things Sherlock could find nothing about her habits, profession, or history. He tried to look at her arm, but it was tightly crossed with its twin over Madeline's chest.

"So John told me you're from America." He said, wheeling around to walk amongst the boxes. "I picked up on your foreign accent when you bumped into me." Madeline sighed and left the door open with the hopes that her guest would show himself out. Sherlock perused her boxes aimlessly, noting things that jumped out at him. Books, cooking utensils, a bag of cat food, more books. All completely ordinary items. The detective turned to leave (much to Madeline's pleasure) but then caught sight of a box hastily labeled "lab equipment". He nudged the box balefully with his shoe while Madeline cleared her throat behind him.

"So what do you do for a living, Mr. Holmes?" She asked.

"Investigative services." He deadpanned. Madeline smiled and leaned against the doorframe casually.

"As the world's 'only consulting detective'?" She asked, allowing herself a small smile at the cold glance Sherlock threw her. His eyes darted briefly to the laptop sitting closed on the desk.

"So you found John's blog." He said dismissively.

"I did my research." Madeline said, beginning to long for the comfort of her bed. "I am a scientist, after all."

"In glycemic acid patterns and protein analysis, yes?" Sherlock stated rather than asked, peering at the stacks of books piled up on the floor; some already resting on shelves. Madeline's slightly surprised expression confirmed his deduction.

_Now we're getting somewhere._ The detective thought.

"So why are you here, Mr. Holmes?" His neighbor asked him. "I thought you said I was _boring_." She emphasized the word playfully. Sherlock scowled.

"I do. But John insisted I apologize and- _get to know you_." He said reproachfully, openly expressing his distaste for the doctor's suggestion. Sherlock noticed Madeline's body language becoming tighter and more closed off. Small words began flickering into existence dimly by her shoulders, reading things like:

_**Self conscious.**_

_** Betrayed.**_

_** Uncomfortable.**_

Sherlock smiled to himself, uncomfortable people were the easiest to read; and that's just how he liked them. Madeline's surprise at John's demand read betrayal, and for a second it was obvious she didn't care for Sherlock being in her flat at all.

_**Friendly.**_

Just like that, she reined in her facial expressions and relaxed her tight posture slightly but still kept her arms pressed close to her sides. Sherlock groaned and filed the small bit of information he'd gathered away into his mind palace.

"I don't care for normal people," He bit out awkwardly. "So, maybe it'd please John if you'd walk down the street with me." Madeline gave him a dim smile and nodded, retreating into the back room to change. Sherlock waited, resisting the urge to sieve through her laptop and check her files.

"Normalcy." He muttered, "How boring." A small yowl broke his thoughts as a gray tabby cat crept into the living room and wound itself around Sherlock's leg. He curled his lip at it disdainfully and tried to shake the little beast off, but it simply purred at him and switched to his other leg, leaving short gray hairs on his trouser legs wherever it rubbed.

"Useless thing." He spat. "Dogs are much better." Out of boredom he began to assess his neighbor's cat whilst she changed, noting that it had more information to offer than its owner.

_**Overfed.**_

_** Loose hairs behind the ears, signs of often petting.**_

_** Declawe-**_

_** Clawed, definitely clawed. **_

Sherlock was about to kick at the cat that had just decided to use his calf as a scratching post when Madeline stumbled out of her room in a hurry.

"Sorry," She breathed, "The movers put my clothes in the wrong spot. I've got them, now."

"Yes, obviously." Sherlock said. Madeline frowned at him until she noticed her tabby circling the detective's legs cozily. She pulled the cat away with a small laugh while the detective brushed the hairs off of his trousers. As they walked to the door he noticed that she was wearing long sleeves that covered the entirety of her arms up to her wrists, and that she had rubber promotion bracelets from different companies lined on her wrists along with a few woven ones. Sherlock smirked, it wasn't even cold, yet.

. . .

Not many people were driving in the streets, but quite a few were walking or bicycling on the sidewalks. Madeline walked next to the tall man, marveling at the stores advertising "bangers and mash" and "fish and chips".

"Can we get some?" Madeline asked Sherlock. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"They're exactly the same as your American food at home. And besides, I don't eat unless I can't help it." He continued on with a swish of his coat. Madeline had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him.

"What do you mean 'unless you can't help it'? You are human, right?" He turned and flashed her an eerily charming smile, although he hadn't meant it to be.

"Not hardly, I've been informed to be heartless on many occasions." His usual scowl slipped back onto his face and he kept walking. As they strolled along, Sherlock kept on taking random glimpses at his neighbor out of the corner of his eye; trying to see if she'd let her guard down. She didn't; Madeline walked confidently with her arms either crossed casually or with her hands in her pockets. It infuriated Sherlock, and he was determined to know just what exactly was irritating him so much besides being unable to read her. He had just opened his mouth to begin an interrogation when wailing sirens sped past them, momentarily pushing all other noise to an inaudible level. Sherlock sighed with a groan.

"What?" Madeline asked curiously. He held up his hand and stopped walking.

"Three, two, one." His phone began to buzz and ring furiously before he answered it. "What, Lestrade?" The detective murmured into his phone. "I saw the sirens and you're calling thirty seconds earlier than usual, so something _must _be wrong." Madeline couldn't hear what the person on the other end was saying; but Sherlock stepped out into the street still on his phone, and flagged down a taxi. He cast her a glance as he opened the cab's door.

"Get in or go home." He said snidely.

She got in.

. . .

"Middle aged man, no evident signs of head trauma and no cyanosis around the mouth." Lestrade said pointedly, casting a patronizing glance at Sherlock as soon as the detective walked in. Madeline entered after him, but stumbled back from the smell of decay and the sight of the bloated body slumped over a desk in the office room. She clasped a hand over her mouth and left, Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"Taking on muses, Holmes?" He asked. Sherlock gave him a withering glance and began examining the body.

"Seriously, who was that, though?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock sighed and quit inspecting the condition of the man's tongue to answer.

"New neighbor. Nothing of importance, John insisted I take her out and make _friends_." He turned back to the corpse and began examining the man's clothes for signs. "Professor, most likely at Oxford. Did you find an ID on him?"

"No."

"Then it's safe to assume he's a professor. There's a pin hole in his left lapel from a university pin that's been removed, and there's a small bit of chalk on his right cuff so he was right handed and his sleeves often muddled in the chalk. Also from looking behind the ears there is a dead skin build up and divot from wearing glasses constantly ad not taking them off- most likely wide frame reading glasses used by most professors at Oxford. He was removed from his workplace or home, just like the other woman. I suggest you send a questionnaire to Oxford and ask if any of their professors are missing, Lestrade." Sherlock concluded, not even slightly winded. Lestrade nodded and finished jotting the last of his notes down on a pad. "Anything else?" Sherlock asked irately; the Detective Inspector shook his head.

"Not that I can think of, have fun with your friend making; sorry I distracted you from your muse." He said smartly. The detective gave him a scalding look and left the office. Madeline was waiting for him outside with a pale tinge on her face and red eyes.

"Were you crying?" Sherlock said accusingly.

"No," She said defensively, "That smell was just awful. Did you solve it?" Sherlock frowned at how quickly she changed the subject but didn't prompt her. Instead he filed away even more information on Madeline Carver.

_**Touchy about death.**_

He gave her a curt nod of affirmation and continued down the street, she followed beside him quietly. Perhaps "friend making" really did yield useful information.

"Who was the other man in there?" His neighbor asked. "Do you work for him?" The detective's lip curled a little at the thought.

"I don't work for anyone. I'm married to my work, and that's for me so I don't get bored. Lestrade is a business partner."

"So he's your friend?"

"Don't be silly, I don't have _friends_." He said. Madeline smiled, finally seeming to cheer up a little.

"Well, you've got John, and I guess you've got me; so I'd say you've got a couple." She said, trying to make the tall man smile. He simply frowned and tugged the collar of his coat up to his high cheekbones. Madeline puffed her cheeks out with a heavy breath of irritation but perked up when she saw a street sign.

"Oh hey, Mr. Holmes can we turn this way for a second? I want to view my workplace before I start in a few weeks. It's somewhere over here…" She said, not waiting for Sherlock's answer before wandering off. He growled softly in frustration and followed her after a minute.

Madeline walked down a couple of different streets, sometimes having to backtrack down a few to regain her bearings. Finally she and Sherlock ended up at Giltspur Street by West Smithfield, staring up at the towering building of St. Bart's Hospital.

"You're joking." Sherlock said incredulously. Madeline beamed at him.

"Nope, I'm so proud! I'll even have my own lab and-"Sherlock strode off without another word, leaving Madeline stumbling along behind him as she tried to keep up.

_Great,_ He thought. _Now she's everywhere._

Someone watched the two unnoticed from the other side of the street. The person had quickly raised their phone and snapped a picture of Madeline smiling at Sherlock while they both looked at the hospital and another one of her tagging along behind him. They sent the pictures to the phone's only contact, a private number on a disposable phone. There was no response message, but they had been received. The game was setting itself up, and the players were taking their places.

**A.N.- NOT HAPPY with this chapter, sorry. It's all fluffy and stuff and I'm SO sorry. I feel like I should make Sherlock nicer because he's not all **_**that**_** bad but he'll warm up eventually and Madeline will find that out; but I'm worried I'm overdoing it right now. Any suggestions? Please? Thank you for reading, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.- This turned out to be a longer chapter than I thought it'd be- oops. Lots of jumping around and such. This has SO MANY views! I guess I'm surprised because I've never written a story for such a large fandom before so I'm just shocked. Thank you guys for all the subscribes and favorites! Oh my GOD it's amazing!**

**AmalieNico- One, cool name. Two, thank you! Jim is coming in soon in person, but right now he's only on the phone all mysterious-like. **

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 3

Sherlock entered Baker Street silently, but made his arrival known by stomping up the stairs and throwing the door to his flat open. Madeline followed behind him silently, not quite sure why he was so aggravated. John wasn't home from the office yet, so they sat in an awkward silence while Sherlock glared holes in the carpet from his chair and Madeline fidgeted and debated whether or not to return to her flat.

"So how do you do it?" She asked the detective. He didn't seem to hear her and kept staring past his steepled fingers at the floor. She repeated the question louder to snare his attention, and even then he didn't seem to really care.

"I read things people can't see and store the information away for later dates in my mind palace." He said flatly. Madeline found herself leaning forward in rapt fascination. Sherlock sighed exasperatedly when she gestured for him to continue.

"By can't see I mean the tiniest of details ordinary people miss- why are you still here? - and they are by far the most important effects of a crime scene." He said. Madeline frowned.

"The smallest details? But wouldn't looking at the big picture be just as helpful?" She asked, the detective snorted and stood from his chair to grab a violin from his bedroom down the hall. He returned with a look that seemed like he was reining in his irritation with his neighbor. The detective began to pluck at the violin strings and tune them accordingly while he returned to his chair.

"Don't be daft, Miss Carver. It's the small things that are the most important." He collapsed gracefully into his chair again then raised the violin to his chin and began to play. Madeline perched on the arm of John's chair and listened to the music erupt effortlessly from the violin's sleek body. She closed her eyes and nodded her head to the music. Sherlock rolled his eyes and kept playing; he snuck a glance at her arm and sure enough his neighbor's sleeve had crept up her left arm about an inch while she wasn't paying attention. He could see a pale white mark stretching across the inside of her wrist, with another one following under it. He began immediately running through the lists of terrorist organizations or secret societies and their marks for their agents, their people were masters at hiding information about themselves, and every so often Sherlock would come across a case with one of the closed off and emotionless agents as either a supposed victim or a definite suspect. However nothing came up with line brands or marks on the left arm, Sherlock sighed in frustration and put down his violin. Madeline opened her eyes as the music ceased and frowned.

"Why'd you-"

"John's home." Sherlock interrupted, pointing with his bow at the curtains by the window that were shifting, even though the window was closed. "Air temperature changes when the door downstairs opens and makes them move." Sherlock explained. Madeline smiled at him and stood from the arm of the doctor's chair.

"I know, Mr. Holmes I'm not completely "daft" as you people say." She said with a small grin. Sherlock gave her a mocking look that fell from his face as soon as it appeared. A moment later John opened the door and strode in, throwing his doctor's bag down onto the table. He saw Madeline standing in his living room and a smile spread over his face.

"Hey, Madeline; did you have a good time with Sherlock today?" He asked her with a good natured wink. She laughed and gave a shrug.

"We walked around in the streets for a while," She admitted, "Then he got a call and solved a case." John was about to ask her more questions about her day when Sherlock interrupted them by sawing his violin bow all over the instrument itself, eliciting a screech from the strings. John rolled his eyes heavily and snatched the violin from his flatmate's hand.

"Really, Sherlock." John hissed, "You can at least try to remain decent and polite." The detective snorted and began to twirl his bow between his fingers restlessly as Madeline filled the doctor in on the rest of their day.

"You're working at St. Bart's?" John exclaimed, "Sherlock works there sometimes too when our fridge gets too full of experiments. That's brilliant, maybe you could help him with some."

"No," Sherlock said shortly from his chair. Madeline shrugged and spread her hands in an _I don't know _motion.

"I don't even think we're on the same floor, but I'll drop in every once in a while and check on him for you, John." She said playfully, Sherlock huffed and stood from his chair.

"No you won't." He said. "I'll lock the doors if I must."

"Sherlock!" John reprimanded, Sherlock glared back at him. Madeline smiled nervously at the two flatmates and unconsciously began to rub her thumb and forefinger around her right wrist in a circle, switching to her other wrist after a second. Sherlock caught sight of her nervous reaction and smiled coyly before sitting back in his chair.

"Oh John, Sherlock was telling me about the reading thing he does at crime scenes; it's really impressive. Could you do a reading on me, Sherlock?" Madeline asked quickly, turning her attention from one man to the other. John felt himself smile a little, knowing that Sherlock couldn't read anything about his new neighbor; but felt the smile slip from his face when Sherlock smirked widely at them.

"Sherlock, maybe you shouldn't. You tend to go overboard on things like this." The doctor warned.

"Don't be ridiculous, John; the lady insists." Sherlock countered, springing up from his chair with the most energy Madeline had seen him with yet. He began to circle around her, scrutinizing her with his pale blue eyes. She smiled nervously at him, but he ignored her. John looked on in concern with the feeling that something was going to happen. Sherlock paused in his pacing and stopped directly in front of Madeline.

"You have a cat, gray tabby-"He began.

"Yes, you met him." Madeline said.

"Don't interrupt me," The detective snapped before continuing. "You're also self-conscious as you subconsciously sit, stand, or cross your arms with them facing into your chest and you only seem to wear long sleeve shirts." John noticed Madeline's eyes darting to the side wildly like she was looking for a way out of the room.

"Sherlock," He said as a warning, but his flatmate ignored him.

"Hiding something, perhaps," Sherlock mused gleefully. "Scars or maybe an ugly tattoo of an old boyfriend."

"_Sherlock_."

"You also rub your wrists like cuffs every so often as a tell- you must be awful at cards- and other than that you're completely ordinarily boring; except for the little scar h-"

"_Sherlock_!" John interrupted, and the detective paused with the side of his finger on his neck like a knife. Madeline was visibly uneasy, and she stepped away as soon as Sherlock's reading had stopped.

"I have a really big urge to punch you in the face." She said in a wobbly voice before gathering her things and leaving for her own flat. Sherlock watched her go and rolled his eyes.

"Women,"

"You don't know when to stop while you're ahead," John admonished. "Remember the little voice we talked about? Common sense? For God's sake please use it, Sherlock." The detective sat back into his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin.

"That's incredibly boring, John. How am I to get anything done with a little voice in my head? Your minds are so dull." He said condescendingly. John sighed and took his doctor's bag to his room. His flatmate was utterly hopeless.

. . .

Madeline barely made it to her room before her chest started heaving and her breaths became ragged. She held her arms to her chest tightly and leaned against the closed door.

_Keep it together, it's not something to get upset about._ She told herself, hugging her arms tighter to herself and wishing she could disappear into nothing. Her breaths slowly began to lengthen until they were normal and she was calm.

_Don't,_ her mind said; but she was on autopilot, now. She took short, lurching steps to her dresser and rummaged around in the drawers until she found her little patterned box. A small bottle rolled around inside it, but she ignored it for the other contents of the box.

_Stop it. This isn't something to overreact about. STOP IT._ Madeline screamed at herself, but another deeper part of her ignored everything else and got to work.

. . .

"Madeline?" A voice asked softly from the other side of the door. "Are you okay? Sorry, Sherlock tends to get a little too into his… stuff when he wants to." Madeline quickly stumbled to the door and opened it while bouncing her cat gently in her arms. John gave her a weak, apologetic smile in the doorway.

"Can I come in?" He asked. She nodded and backed away to let him in. The doctor looked at her impressive bookshelf that had been completely filled and at the empty boxes lying on their sides labeled "books". Madeline had also set up a simple table in the living room and a smaller one in the adjoining kitchen area. She had also set up comfortable chairs in the living room at random intervals, some were beanbags, there was a comfortable looking armchair, and there was even a bungee cord net woven into a seat.

"I'm impressed." John said, "You really unpacked quickly." Madeline stood with her back to him, still rocking her cat silently.

"Yeah, it wasn't too much to unpack. The majority of my stuff is books." She said quietly. John frowned and took a smaller step forward.

"He's really not all that bad when you get used to him." The doctor said softly. "You can always give him another chance to redeem himself; take you out for fish and chips or something." Madeline turned to him with a watery smile and tilted her head thoughtfully.

"I thought he didn't eat." She stated.

"He does, on occasion." John responded wryly, "But I normally have to shove it down his thr-"Loud, repetitive bangs echoed through the apartments. Madeline and John ducked instinctively and the cat leapt out of its owner's arms irritably before darting into a different room. Madeline looked around in panic.

"Are those-"

"Gunshots? No, no. Just Sherlock trying to- um, amuse himself." John said quickly, stepping out of 221 C and darting up the stairs to his own flat. Madeline followed him. The bangs started again and got louder as they approached 221 B. When John opened the door, Sherlock was sitting casually in his chair with his legs crossed and a pistol lolling in his left hand.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing this for now?" John scolded. His flatmate jumped up from his chair irritably and aimed the gun at John and Madeline threateningly before swiveling the muzzle to face the wall and firing at it repeatedly.

"Bored! Bored!" He shouted; twisting around and shooting under his arm at the wall. He ran out of bullets quickly and slid the magazine out to reload it, but Madeline stepped forward and snatched the gun from the detective's hand.

"Then go outside and do something." She said icily before handing the weapon to John. Sherlock stared at her irately and gave her a scowl.

"Have a nice cry, did we?" He said snarkily. Madeline pressed her lips into a thin line and resisted the urge to take the gun back from John and throw it at his flatmate. A few moments later Mrs. Hudson stumbled up the stairs, out of breath and worried.

"I heard gunfire; Sherlock nobody broke in again, did they?" She asked. Sherlock pressed the tips of his forefingers to his temples agitatedly.

"No, Mrs. Hudson; everything's fine. If I remember correctly you have a bingo match starting in half an hour, you shouldn't miss it." He said distantly. The old woman gave him a scalding look then set her eyes on Madeline.

"Ooh, Miss Carver! I see you've all met, now. Are you enjoying yourself?" She asked enthusiastically. Madeline nodded wordlessly and Mrs. Hudson gave a small squeal of delight, patting the girl's cheek fondly before disappearing back downstairs.

"Nobody 'broke in _again_'? Do break-ins happen often here?" Madeline asked John. The doctor rubbed at his nose and shook his head.

"It's normally all his fault with the cases. We've had some people come looking for trouble here before." He said.

"Yes, I will admit that those were my fault." Sherlock said, striding past the other two into the kitchen.

"Sherlock Holmes just got deep." John whispered to Madeline before taking a seat in his chair. Madeline sat across from him in Sherlock's chair. "He never admits to anything like that."

"I can hear you, John. Miss Carver, out of my chair." The detective called from the fridge. He pulled something out of the fridge and turned around, holding a severed head by the hair. John closed his eyes slowly and Madeline looked away nervously. Sherlock gave her a close-lipped smile.

"Oh yes, sorry. Forgot you don't like dead bodies and the like. More reason for you to not hang around here. Why are you still in my chair?" He said patronizingly. Madeline's fingers encircled her wrist again and began rubbing at her skin but she sat firm.

"You aren't sitting here," She said quietly. "And I'd be more than happy to help you examine that specimen of yours, Mr. Holmes." She stood and walked to the kitchen, pulling out a butter knife from the dish rack by the sink she expertly took a sample from the base of the head's neck and spread it onto a slide she snatched form Sherlock's lab equipment scattered all over the table.

_It's work, just work. _

She added the dye to the sample and slid it under the microscope lens, completing the entire process in under thirty seconds. John watched her, impressed; and his flatmate looked on apathetically before peering into the microscope to check the sample.

"It's fine." Sherlock muttered, "But you could have put a little more dye in, I can barely see any cell membranes." He finished callously, determined to find some fault. Madeline huffed and nudged him out of the way so she could look into the scope. She adjusted the dial while the detective looked on antagonizingly before she pulled away.

"You messed up, Mr. Holmes." Madeline said triumphantly. "You had the wrong lens on." The detective huffed and turned to look at his flatmate, but John just gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and mouthed "say something" at him.

"Yes, I put it there on purpose. I was wondering if you'd notice." Sherlock said stiffly. John slapped a palm to his forehead exasperatedly. Madeline beamed at the detective and stepped aside so he could resume looking into the scope.

"I noticed, Sherlock."

. . .

Over the next few weeks Sherlock had very few cases. The absence of work allowed more time for Madeline to spend time with her new neighbors and get to know them a little better. She discovered that Sherlock had an older brother exactly like him, and that John had a rather long history of girlfriends. Sherlock only garnered a few more pieces of information about his new neighbor: her cat's name was K.C. (creatively named for Kitty Cat), she was from Georgia, but had studied forensics and genetic protein patterns at Harvard, her moods would sometimes swing from outgoing and happy to quiet and reserved in a matter of minutes; but still Sherlock couldn't deduce anything about her past or the marks he had seen. He did, however grow a little accustomed to her presence in 221B Baker Street as well as her unneeded inputs on some of his cases.

Madeline began work at St. Bart's three weeks after she moved into Baker Street, but her lab was on an entirely different floor than the lab Sherlock frequently used. She did befriend a certain specialist registrar in St. Bart's morgue, and she and Molly Hooper would talk sometimes after the other doctors and scientists had left for the night about different protein foldings and the cases Sherlock and John had solved.

Deep into November Madeline and John were reorganizing the books on Sherlock's bookshelf and trying to covertly remove experiments becoming stagnant in the fridge without the detective's knowledge. Their operation was ruined by Sherlock bursting into the flat excitedly, waving his phone around zealously.

"Good news! Someone's died!" He sang, drawing a startled look from Madeline and a sigh of exasperation from John. "A Caucasian boy, four to six years was found naked in a cardboard carton in an alley by the parking deck on Golden Lane. Head shaved meticulously, finger and toenails all clipped to the quick. John this is very promising!" Sherlock exclaimed as he read off the logistics that Lestrade had sent him. Madeline winced momentarily at the description. John sighed and grabbed his coat, Sherlock retied his scarf about his neck and joined his flatmate at the door. He threw Madeline an expectant look and jerked his head toward the stairwell.

"Are you coming or not, Miss Carver?" Her face burst into a smile as she grabbed her jacket and joined her two neighbors in the cold November air, even though a small part of her wanted to stay at home and hide from the death waiting outside.

. . .

"Hey, Holmes. Good to see you. This one's got us all stumped." Lestrade said as soon as Sherlock, John, and Madeline arrived on Golden Lane.

"When do they not?" Sherlock retorted before heading down the alleyway calmly to survey the body. Two of Lestrade's agents shot the detective hateful glares before stepping away from a large plastic sheet spread onto the ground. Madeline hung back from the scene, and John took the opportunity to introduce her to agents Anderson and Donovan. Donovan stuck out her hand to Madeline skeptically.

"You're not as crazy as him, are you?" She asked, nodding back at Sherlock, who was dancing around the boy's body with a pocket magnifying glass and examining the corpse's cuticles. Madeline laughed and shook her hand. "But seriously, watch yourself around him." Donovan said seriously, "He doesn't even take money for the cases, he just does it for fun. One day he'll be the killer and we'll be tracking him down." Madeline stepped away from her quickly. She noticed Agent Anderson staring at her intently and rubbing at his neck. She flushed and waved at him timidly before turning away to stand with John. Madeline could feel the man's disappointment radiating towards her back while she walked away. Sherlock in the meantime was scraping samples from under the boy's fingernails for soil traces. Madeline crept closer to the body, clutching John's arm tightly and bringing him with her. She wanted to step back to the edge of the scene, but steeled herself and dug her nails farther into John's arm. He winced but said nothing.

The boy was young, about four to six just as Lestrade had said. His scalp had been freshly shaved, and he was entirely unclothed. There were horrible bruises marking up and down the poor boy's body and face. Sherlock was sweeping his hands across they boy's chest, poking and prodding for broken bones. He found a few hairs presumably from the child and collected them in a small plastic bag. He stood and thrust them at Madeline carelessly, shaking the bag wordlessly when she didn't take it.

"Hello?" She gingerly reached up and held the bag between her fingertips. Sherlock nodded once and turned back to the body. Madeline passed the bag off to John, who took it without a word.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come out here." Madeline said to John softly. "I think I'll head back home." The doctor nodded and let her go. Sherlock called his flatmate over for his opinion.

"Where's Miss Carver going?" He asked absently, observing the capillary refill of the boy's cheek. John sighed as he pulled on a white pair of gloves handed to him by an EMT.

"Going home. Some people don't like crime scenes." He said. Sherlock snorted and jumped around to the other side of the body giddily.

"Don't be ridiculous, people love them."

"Obviously not."

"Then she needs to toughen up a bit, don't you think?"

"No, you tend to put people off with your excitement about prodding bodies. Anyone wouldn't want to be around you when you act like a necrophiliac." John said. The two continued to bicker quietly while they examined the corpse. Madeline walked quickly out of the taped off area and was stopped by Lestrade.

"You okay?" He asked, she shook her head yes and gave him a weak smile. Lestrade returned it in full and tapped her shoulder in a friendly way. "You should be proud, it's usually just Holmes and Watson on these cases. Be glad he let you tag along with him." He gave her a wide smile, "It means your opinion or somethin' means somethin' important to him." Madeline thanked him meekly for his words and continued home, trying to shun the image of the pale little boy from her mind.

. . .

She was alone. It was the perfect time to strike.

_"Not yet." _The electronically distorted voice crackled. _"Give them a little more time. This girl has to actually mean something to them, and we don't have a pressure point on her, yet. Just wait."_ With that the voice hung up. The stranger on the sidewalk growled quietly, it was a different person than the one who'd spied on Madeline and Sherlock a few weeks ago, but they'd been watching the residents of 221 Baker Street closely. Very closely. The stranger pulled out their phone and quickly sent a couple of pictures to their mysterious caller. The pictures contained a small floral-patterned box and its contents. After a moment the phone buzzed.

_Interesting._ It read, _but still give it more time. Art can't be rushed._ The stranger scowled and pocketed the phone, ready to exchange shifts with one of their partners.

. . .

Madeline could hear Sherlock and John as soon as they walked in through the front door. Sherlock was rattling off theories to his flatmate and John was humming an occasional acknowledgement to keep the detective going. Madeline darted out of her apartment and stood at the bottom of the stairs as her neighbors reached the top.

"Did you solve it, Sherlock?" She asked, the detective turned to her with a wide smile on his face and shrugged.

"The game is afoot, Madeline. The game is _on_." And with that he continued up the stairs; John waved goodnight to Madeline and she responded in kind before returning to her room and taking out her box. She pulled out the small bottle from within the container and popped it open, following her regulated procedure. After that Madeline climbed into bed as K.C. curled up on her stomach after kneading her with his claws. She drifted off to sleep with Sherlock playing an energetic but soothing tune on his violin as he organized his thoughts.

. . .

"You know what I noticed, Sherlock?" John said absently as his flatmate stood by the window and played his instrument. "You and Madeline are on a first name basis, now." Sherlock snorted rudely.

"No we aren't."

"Yes you are. No more 'Miss Carver' or 'Mr. Holmes' junk or anything like that, I noticed." The doctor said smartly. "What happened to her being so boring you couldn't stand to be in the same room with her?" The violin music halted for a minute before picking up again as if it had never stopped.

"Belt up, John." Sherlock growled, "You don't know what you're talking about."

**A.N.- Oh my GOD, 253 views in SIX days!? You guys are smothering me! (Please keep doing so! XD) I'm basing this case off of a real one, but I'm altering it a little bit. Please review and subscribe! Madeline's mystery will be unraveled soon! (Probably in the next chapter or so.)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.- Haha, I'm spitting out chapters like crazy! My classes are too easy and I've got all this FREE time. Jeesh. I also went to a mixer last weekend and met this **_**really**_** handsome boy… and he's 14, too! THE STARS HAVE ALIGNED. (Kidding, you guys.)**

**AmalieNico- No problem, it's a really neat handle. And thanks for the praise- John can be adorable when he wants to be (but then again Sherlock can to… to be manipulative, John does it 'cause he's nice.) He's like the buffer to Sherlock's open brazenness. **

**Madeline? On meds? WHAAAT? Gee, I don't know…**

**Aroochick- Yeah, there are people watching Madeline and the guys all the time, now. Jim might make an appearance soon, but right now it's all his men. Yeah, the guys just integrated her in; even though Sherlock still can't figure out any important things about her.**

**My feelings are pathetically sensitive, thank you for all the support! We got over 100 views last night- up to 400-something, now! Thank you all SO much!**

**Some people might not like this chapter, and I apologize heavily.**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 4

"Samples from the lungs, heart, and liver are all at Bart's waiting for me." Sherlock said, "And I found a strange brown substance on the inside of the boy's esophagus, maybe he was forcefully fed something- no, no don't be stupid. John, shut up! I'm thinking!" He snarled at his flatmate. John shook his head and fluffed his newspaper wordlessly, ignoring his flatmate while Sherlock paced around in 221 B agitatedly.

"What about something slick. And sticky. Something brown. Molasses? No, no sugar traces in the mouth. Maybe it was-"

"Vomiting?" Madeline supplied helpfully from the doorway. Sherlock unfisted his hands from his curly hair and sprang onto the coffee table in front of the couch with a laugh, peering at the posters and pictures he'd tacked to the wall. "I heard him pacing all the way from my apartment," Madeline told John as she sat in Sherlock's seat gingerly.

"Out of my seat, Miss Carver." Sherlock called absently from the wall, she stuck her tongue out at the detective's back as John gave them an approving look. Sherlock hoped down from the coffee table and strode towards the fire place.

"Miss Carver, take these and run a DNA scan on them for me." He said expectantly, tossing a bag of tiny hair clippings onto her lap. She shied away from it and gingerly set it on the table beside her.

"Hair analyzing really isn't my field, Sherlock." She said. The detective rolled his eyes and turned so that he towered over her.

"Of course it is. Hair and nails are made of keratin, a protein; and genetics determine a person's hair or the shape of their nails. Right up your alley, have fun." He gave her a tight smile like he was trying to be friendly. John hid his amused grin behind his newspaper.

"I can try it." Madeline said slowly, "But don't expect any concrete results." She gently pinched the bag between two fingers and stood from the chair.

"Ah, you're brilliant, Miss Carver, brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, shaking his hands in excitement. His neighbor gave him a small smile before shrugging on her coat and leaving. No sooner had the door shut than Sherlock's strained smile disappeared from his face and he collapsed in his chair with a scowl.

"You need to stop doing that." John chided from his seat.

"Doing what? I'm not doing anything. I'm thinking." His flatmate retorted, leaning on his hand irately.

"You know what I meant: manipulating people. Especially women like Molly and Madeline- with you cheekbones and turned up collars and the like." John elaborated. Sherlock gave his flatmate a trying look and shrugged.

"She listened out of her own free will, I'm no mind controller." He said a little bitingly. John "m-hmmed" in the back of his throat with an unamused stare. Sherlock returned the look until he leapt from his chair and resumed pacing.

"Fine! I needed her out of the flat so I could do some investigating." The detective glowered. "And she needs to stop sitting in my armchair, it makes the seat warm and uncomfortable. John," He said, returning his attention to the doctor. "I need you to go root through Madeline's things, bring me anything that might be useful."

"Wha- no! Sherlock I'm not going to just go browsing through her stuff on your whim." John protested. Sherlock gave him a patronizing glare.

"Oh come on, haven't you wanted to know more about her?" He prodded.

"She told us where she's from and what she does." John responded evenly.

"That's ridiculous and you know it. Nobody can be _that_ dull, John."

"Maybe she's not dull, just not willing to tell you anything-"

"That's the spirit!"

"Because you overreact and try to read anything and everything about her. People don't like that, Sherlock." John said promptly before grabbing papers he had to file for work at the office. Sherlock closed his eyes, steepled his fingers and tapped the touching tips of his forefingers against his nose.

"John, what if she's in trouble? She seems like someone who would do that conceal something troubling her. Why don't you go check through her things and make sure she's not secretly a cocaine addict or something." The detective said emotionlessly. A few seconds later he heard John's desk chair scrape backwards and heard his harried footsteps retreat down the stairs and into the hallway. Sherlock smiled and opened his eyes, he reached behind his chair for his violin and began plucking at the strings absentmindedly; waiting for his guilt-tripped flatmate to bring him results.

. . .

"Sherlock!" John said breathlessly, barging into the flat and leaning against the door. Sherlock didn't even look at his flatmate as he continued to pluck at his violin.

"The brand of her undergarments doesn't interest me, I hope you've brought me something useful." The doctor took a deep, steadying breath and clutched something in his hand.

"So I was rifling through Madeline's room to see if I could find anything and-"

"Her cat is of no importance to me."

"But _this_ is." The doctor waved a small floral-patterned box in Sherlock's face. It made a hollow rattling sound like items were sliding around inside of it. The detective snatched it out of his flatmate's hand irately and opened it carelessly. He sat staring at the box's contents for a while blankly until a brief look of horror and revulsion crossed his features. The detective sprang up from the chair, knocking the box's contents to the floor as he began pacing furiously, using his hands to gesture silently at the air while he muttered to himself agitatedly. John glanced at the box and bit back a growl of frustration. Five razor blades, a prescription bottle, and a carefully folded note had tumbled out onto the floor, and the beginning of the note was easily visible:

_**I'm sorry, I just can't-**_

John kicked at the carpet angrily while Sherlock restored himself to a cool, collected state and replaced the contents of the box and set it on the table.

"She should be home any moment now. Try not to look like you killed her cat, John. You look furious." Sherlock said blandly. John opened his mouth to deliver a scalding retort but Sherlock pointed at the curtains that were shifting from the slight change in temperature.

"She's back."

. . .

"Hey, sorry that took so long, Sherlock. But the hairs are definitely from the boy they match perf- what's wrong, you guys?" Madeline stopped just inside of 221 B's doorway with a confused look plastered to her face. John was standing by Sherlock's chair with an expression halfway between guilty and furious, and his flatmate was sitting in his armchair with his fingers laced together carelessly and a bored expression. Madeline's eyes traveled over the scene until they caught sight of the small box on the table. Her pulse began to race and almost all the color drained from her face.

"Is there something you've been meaning to tell us, Madeline?" John said angrily, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Sherlock said nothing as he assessed everyone's body language. Madeline radiated fairly obvious things:

_**Terrified,**_

_** Betrayed,**_

_** Furious,**_

_** Secretive,**_

_** Lucid,**_

_** Fragile.**_

__John on the other hand portrayed the same things, but from a different standpoint:

_**Guilty,**_

_** Angry, **_

_** Distressed,**_

_** Nervous,**_

_** Cautious,**_

_** Furious.**_

__Madeline's pointer finger and her thumb began to make a bracelet around her wrist again, and now Sherlock understood why. With the simplest pieces of information he had learned so much more about his dull neighbor than he had expected.

"So would you mind telling us why?" He said, opening the box and taking out the small bottle. He rolled it between his hands like a child's toy then held it up so Madeline could see the label, even though she knew full well what it read.

"Severe antidepressants prescribed to one Miss Madeline Carver. Take three pills by mouth daily with water and food. Do _not_ skip medications. So my guess is that this is a menagerie of medicines like Trofanil and Paxil, correct? Oh, and look- medications for severe Bipolar Disorder. Well, then." The detective said coldly. Madeline's fingers began rubbing at her wrists harder. "Good Lord, you must have been a twenty-seven on the Hamilton Depression Scale, Miss Carver. The question is: how did you hide it so well? And you should buy yourself better razors, these are beginning to rust." John swiftly stepped over and hit his flatmate on the back of the head with a book furiously, and not lightly, either. The book thwacked against Sherlock's skull loudly and he gave John a venomous glare.

"Why didn't you say anything to us?" The doctor said with barely controlled fury rising in his voice. "We're your friends, we could've helped you. Why in the world would you ever want to hurt yourself?" Madeline's blue eyes were wide, and she was beginning to have trouble seeing because of the tears blurring her vision. She pulled her right sleeve back a little so her neighbors could see the faint pink lines tracing across her skin like they were drawn with a straight edge. A few darker ones seemed fresher, like they'd been drawn only days ago.

"I- I don't know." She said in a thin, scared voice. "I don't tell anybody, I just don't. It's one of those things you deal with on your own." John stepped forward with the most outraged look implanted onto his features, but calmed himself and extended a hand to his neighbor.

"That's not something you deal with by yourself." He said in a softer voice. "Here, we'll help you." He guided her to the couch and let her sit before taking a comforting seat beside her.

"I don't know." Madeline said shakily, "I really don't know where to start. I've always had feelings like that, emptiness and loneliness, or the thoughts that I just couldn't do anything right no matter how hard I tried. It felt good to watch my pain bleed out, and it helped to watch the wounds scab and heal into scars." She brushed at her eyes angrily as John gingerly reached out to rub her shoulder. "Sorry," She said.

"No, no. You're fine." John said. Sherlock sat silently in his chair while the other two talked in hushed, comforting tones on the other side of the room. A small grin slid on and off of the detective's face periodically. _How could he have missed such a thing? Some detective, she was very clever._ Smile. _But- she really was in pain, is this what normal people felt? _Frown. _Normal people, how boring_. Smile again. _She hid it so well, though. Are other normal people as internally complex? _Back to a serious frown.

"I don't have a seriously demented or tortured past. Or a tragic backstory," Madeline murmured quietly to John, "I've just got this, and it's occupied a large piece of my life for as long as I can remember." Her confession was interrupted by Sherlock standing and pulling on his coat. He knotted his scarf around his neck and strode to the door.

"John, as I recall we have a case to solve." He said callously. The doctor stared at him incredulously.

"I'm a little preoccupied, thanks very much." He responded,

"Just commit her to an asylum and be done with it." Sherlock snapped snarkily. "We've got work to do." He added, trying to soften his first statement.

"I'm not crazy!" Madeline said forcefully, standing and rounding on the tall man. He stared back at her with emotionless blue eyes and an unreadable expression.

"No, just too common for your own good."

"And what does that mean?" Madeline snapped.

"Exactly what it should."

"Sherlock!" John interjected, "I'm taking her with us. I don't want to leave her alone right now."

"Like there's a chance in hell you will." Sherlock said icily before disappearing down the stairs and striding out the door. Madeline and John watched him go silently.

"I'm fine, John. Sometimes my meds just don't work." She said quietly. John reached for her wrist and pulled her sleeve back down to cover the pink lines.

"You know what, then that's okay. I'm a doctor." He said fondly. Madeline gave him a grateful hug before she took her medications, rebuttoned her coat around her shoulders and followed John down the stairs and outside, where Sherlock was waiting for them. He snarled an abrupt "sorry" at Madeline's feet before turning and taking deep strides down the street. Madeline sighed at the relaxed feeling flowing through her body. It wasn't just from the medicines flowing through her system. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of her chest. It was still there, hanging dangerously above her; but she had the feeling that she'd have the help of two men to help her lift it up and away.

**A.N.- SHIT CHAPTER, I KNOW. Pardon moi Francais. I had this chapter planned from the beginning, this is actually the scene I based the story off of. (Sad, huh?) You are reading the work of a bipolar girl with suicidal tendencies who takes no medication and gets along fine, but there are some people who have it way worse and have to take severe meds for it.**

**For those who don't know: Bipolar is when you have epic and frequent mood swings (manic/ mania and depression swings). You can go from laughing happily one minute to a suicidal ball in a corner the next. (It ain't pretty, I'll have you know.) Sorry Madeline has no seriously cool backstory, but remember- she's unbelievably dull to Sherlock…. Until now. And until Jimmy decides to make an entrance….**

**Review, please! Love to you all!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.- The woman in this chapter, M. She was a real consultant on the case that I'm using in here; but the police doubted her because of her history of ill mental health. Kind of sad, but it fits the theme here… (wow I am a really bad person).**

**ShadowPantherCasey- Thanks for your support, you're so sweet! Yeah, bipolar isn't fun. And mixed with severe depression it's downright sucky. Like really sucky. It's good to know that the story connects to people (not in a bad way, but in the sense that the story can really happen to someone- kinda). Thanks for your support, and please don't cry, 'cause then I'll cry and we'll all be a mess of tears. Nooooo!**

**Thanks everybody- WE'VE BREACHED 600 VIEWS!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 5

The inhabitants of 221 Baker Street didn't mention Madeline's history after it was uncovered. Even Sherlock had the decency to hold his tongue now that he'd found out why she had been so difficult to read. Madeline openly took her medications around John and Sherlock, although at first she would retreat back to her flat and return minutes later. She grew comfortable around her neighbors now that they knew her "secret". John would ask Madeline every once in a while if she needed a prescription renewed for her medicine, but she would politely decline and they would go about their business.

The case that John dubbed "The Boy in the Box" on his blog was exceedingly frustrating to the three of them. The hairs Madeline had tested were indeed from the boy, but that got them nowhere. Scanned searches countrywide came up with no DNA match for the boy, so Lestrade suggested they interview the person living at the address printed on the box they boy was found in. The cardboard box had been left outside in the rain and cold, so the label was hard to read; but after lots of studying and a little bit of guesswork John, Madeline, and Sherlock found themselves contacting a woman who only let them refer to her as "M" out of an apparent sense of paranoia.

"I had ordered a brand new cardigan- one of the pretty maroon ones, you know? And I was a little worried that the package hadn't arrived yet, but I thought to myself 'oh, it's just a bit delayed in the post is all'. I do feel terribly awful about that poor child, though. Poor boy." M said sorrowfully over the phone. Madeline stroked her cat in her lap silently while John and Sherlock interviewed the woman via speakerphone.

"Yes, apparently your package was from J.C. Penney." Sherlock said distastefully. "And where was your address, again?"

"I can't tell you that!" The woman said tearfully, "What if the person who killed that boy comes after _me_? He already intercepted my mail, who's to say he can't get into my house-"

"Oh shut up, you're talking like you're the victim." Sherlock snarled, drumming his fingers at a furious pace on the arm of his chair. M was silent for a moment before she murmured a quiet apology on the other end.

"Still," John said kindly. "We need to get to the bottom of this. Thank you for your time, M. We'll be in touch." He hung up, rubbing his temples. Madeline frowned to herself and continued to pet K.C. as Sherlock pulled out his violin and tuned the strings irately.

"DNA from the body. Same. No scan match in the whole country. Recipient of the package was a paranoid woman of middle age." He mused. Madeline's cat mewled as he rolled over in her lap playfully. Sherlock cut his eyes to it angrily.

"Get that thing out of here, I need to go to my mind palace." He demanded. Madeline nodded and carried her cat to her flat, returning a few minutes later. Sherlock was leaning forward with his violin laying across his lap, trapped by his elbows resting on his knees. He stared vacantly ahead of himself at the pattern on the carpet.

"He's in his mind palace, Madeline." John explained. "Ignore him and leave him be." His neighbor sighed and leaned against the windowsill laboriously, determined to wait Sherlock and his mind palace out. John began signing papers he had taken home from the office animatedly while Sherlock kept staring at the ground. Madeline walked to the kitchen and took her medicine, then walked back and sat in John's chair while he began to file the papers away.

"That's it!" Sherlock shouted, springing from his chair and spinning around with his bow in one hand and his violin held by the neck in the other; he barely avoided hitting Madeline in the head with the instrument. He began to play an avid tune on the strings while striding around the flat, talking at the speed of light.

"Slow down!" John said. "We can't understand you when you're rambling." Sherlock gave his flatmate an exasperated glance and stopped spinning around but still kept playing.

"I'll need to take a tooth from the boy and analyze his nuclear DNA. Then I'll at least get some hint about something, if not an answer." He elaborated, turning to Madeline. "It's not in your field, but would you consider doing an analysis on his dentin cells…"

"Nope." Madeline said, shaking her hands and leaning back into the chair comfortably. "I'll help you with genetics or proteins, but nothing out of my field. Sorry, Mr. Holmes." She said in a tone implying that she wasn't sorry at all. Sherlock scowled at her and stood.

"Fine," He said. "The least you could do is set up my lab equipment in the kitchen."

. . .

Sherlock returned about an hour later with a rattling prescription bottle clutched in his hand. He gave a rare smile at the sight of his microscopes and beakers waiting for him on the kitchen table. He immediately sat down on his stool and began to work. John gathered his things and packed his bag for work before bidding Madeline goodbye as he left and receiving a grunt from Sherlock. After John left the flat was engulfed in an awkward silence while Sherlock tinkered with his tools in the kitchen and Madeline sat in his chair. He saw and cut her an annoyed glance at which she gave him a small wave and a wide smile. The detective rolled his eyes and went back to work. Madeline stood and made her way to the door to go back to her flat.

"You're not going to get your _cat_, are you?" Sherlock asked with obvious revulsion. "Don't you bring him in here and put him on my chair, Miss Carver. I hate cat hair on my things." Madeline paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"I'll bring K.C. in if I want to, Mr. Holmes." She said smartly. He sighed and leaned forward, knocking his forehead on the edge of the table exasperatedly.

"Don't bring the cat. Seriously. I won't allow you back in here while you're covered in cat hair." The corner of his mouth jumped up a little bit in an almost imperceptible motion. Madeline smiled and walked back to the detective's chair, listening to him adjust dials and items on the table. Madeline played with her hands for a moment, considering her question and rewriting it in her mind multiple times before settling on an approach.

"Sherlock, what do you think of relationships?" She asked thoughtfully after a moment. The detective rolled his eyes and shrugged indifferently.

"They're trivial, nothing more." Sherlock said dismissively. Madeline frowned at him as the detective put his eye to the microscope he had been using again and adjusted the dial meticulously.

"And why is that, Mr. Holmes?" She asked him, folding her arms over each other delicately. He cut her an irritated glance out of the corner of his eye and pushed back from the scope with a heavy sigh.

"Because relationships, Miss Carver are based solely on one person's need or dependence on another. The two individuals feel a need to be near each other to trigger a sense of wellbeing through their actions towards each other. They're not useful to someone who doesn't have need for companionship." Finished, Sherlock turned back to his work. "Besides," He continued while adjusting the slide, "You know I consider myself heavily married to my work." Madeline frowned sadly at him.

"Then what about John, Sherlock?" She asked quietly, "What about me? We're your companions, and I think you secretly enjoy our company." She sidled around the detective and leaned down beside him.

"Go away," He grunted. Madeline smiled.

"You do enjoy it."

"Working." He said pointedly. Madeline smiled gently at him and retreated to the living room. A short while later he heard her bustling about and grabbing something from the broom closet.

"What are you doing, now?" He asked agitatedly. Madeline poked her head into the kitchen while tying a small scarf about her neck and fastening her coat about her waist.

"Getting ready."

"For what?"

"A date." She said. Sherlock snorted, not showing the uneasiness scratching at the back of his mind at the notion.

"Obviously. You're fumbling with your buttons- the top one's mismatched, by the way- and you seem in a hurry even though it's only a quarter till eight. Most _people_," He said the word vehemently, "Would schedule a time to meet at an exact turn of the hour or half hour. You're obviously preparing too early." Sherlock said, Madeline ran a finger through her hair and studied her reflection in the window over the sink.

"Maybe," She said softly, "But maybe it's a date that's far away and I'll have to leave early."

"Nonsense, it's presumably your first date with this _someone_, so you're staying as close to home as possible." Sherlock chided, Madeline smiled when he said the word _home_, and also at the emphasis he was placing when referencing her date.

"Perhaps," She said cryptically. Sherlock deadpanned at her before turning back to his work with a grumble.

"So why are you going?"

"On the date, you mean?"

"Obviously." Madeline fiddled with her scarf unconsciously, but stopped and threw it over her shoulder when she realized Sherlock could use it to read her anxiety.

"Companionship," She said smartly. "I asked you about relationships earlier, and I'm off to find one." Sherlock jolted away from the microscope quickly and switched the light underneath it off. She had his fully undivided attention, now.

"Why would you of all people be seeking companionship?" He asked haughtily, "You've got John and I, as well as Mrs. Watson and your filthy cat." Madeline pulled her coat a little closer around her, the atmosphere was getting tense, and she could feel her medicine wearing off. It was probably time for her last dose for the evening, but she wasn't feeling the least bit compelled to reach for her bottle.

"Funny, I've been telling you that same thing for a while, Sherlock." She said lightheartedly, but faltered a little when he showed no response. She frowned nervously and rubbed at her wrists.

"You know why, Sherlock. I can't spend all my time around you and John. It's unhealthy-"

"It's fine."

"No, not really. Not between all the danger and bloody cases and sociopathic madness. I'd like a little mundanity in my life, please. Just to tone it all down a bit." Madeline said carefully, Sherlock's eyes traveled over her hands rubbing her wrists like cuffs and she hastily stuck them in her pockets. His eyes then sprang to her face, searching for hints.

_**Tired.**_

_**Lonely.**_

_**Excited.**_

_**Desperate.**_

_**Needy.**_

_**Scared.**_

He saw all the same traits he saw in her every day, but they seemed to scream at him even louder, now; especially _**scared**_.

"Does it scare you?" He asked quietly. She tilted her head in confusion and waited for the detective to elaborate. "Does all of this business scare you; the blood and bodies? All of the danger. You're rubbing your wrists again." He observed.

"No, Sherlock." Madeline sighed, "I just want to have something else, and I can't really explain it." Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, bringing him closer to Madeline with every deep stride.

"Then what else?" He asked her carefully. "What else is there that you're missing?" He stood mere inches from her, looking down his chest to see her clearly. Madeline took her hands out of her coat pockets and wrung them around each other systematically. _Right, left, right, left. _She stopped and dug her left thumbnail into the base of her right wrist before answering, but not hard enough to draw blood.

"I guess- I want someone to listen." She said softly. "I want someone outside of Baker Street." She added, "To listen to how different I feel all the time; and to tell me it's okay." Sherlock stared down at her while she looked up at him with a smile. Her eyes travelled to the clock on the mantle and widened.

"I'll be late!" She swore, bidding Sherlock goodnight and rushing out the door past a startled John Watson and down into the street where she failed multiple times to hail a taxi so took off walking at a brisk pace and soon disappeared around a corner.

"What was that about?" John asked tiredly as he threw his bag on the couch and situated himself in his chair with the paper. "Or do I even want to know?" He added jokingly. Sherlock stared out the window absently after the route Madeline had taken.

"Miss Carver just left on an endeavor to seek companionship." He said blandly. John fluffed the newspaper a few times to separate the pages without batting an eye.

"You mean a date."

"Yes, that."

"Well good for her. Hopefully she'll have better luck than Molly Hooper in finding good boyfriends." John said good-naturedly, noting how his flatmate bristled at the statement.

"I'm going back to work." Sherlock grumbled, returning to his microscope. John smiled to himself and turned the page. He hadn't even finished the second article when he heard Sherlock slamming things around in the kitchen roughly.

"Don't you dare break those damn bowls again, Sherlock. I'm not paying for more." John called after him.

"I can't find the right compound for this!" The detective groaned. "I don't have enough for the proper reaction! John," He poked his head out of the kitchen with his hair ruffled about his ears and a scowl on his face. "Go find some magnesium, preferably from a local store, and pick up dinner from a nice restaurant while you're at it." He added before withdrawing once again.

"I'm not your housekeeper, either." John responded. "You can go get it yourself, I had a beastly day at the office." Sherlock reappeared outside of the kitchen with a wide smile on his face.

"Really? Do tell." He said cheerfully, John looked up at him apathetically.

"Do you really care?"

"Of course not, go find me some magnesium, John. I need some, get me some." Sherlock said, abandoning his smile. After multiple refusals from his flatmate Sherlock strode back to the kitchen irately.

"You know, if you care that much just go look for her." John said softly, Sherlock glared at him from beneath his microscope.

"Oh belt up, John."

"I didn't say anything."

"You thought everything." The detective huffed before grabbing his coat and scarf and leaving 221B for the chill of the evening outside.

. . .

"I know, I'm sorry I'll be a little late. No, no I'm fine; I lost track of the time, is all." Madeline huffed into her phone. "No, I'll just take a water. Yeah sure, please order already; I'm just a few minutes away. Okay, thank you." She hung up and pocketed her phone exasperatedly.

"I got too busy pouring out to Sherlock," She muttered, "And now I'm late." She continued to grumble to herself until she passed the grocer's market.

"Hey, Miss. Do you know where Kensington is? I got lost from my mum while we were playin' in the gardens." A small scrawny boy said. He was sitting outside the market, looking worn and dejected. His clothes were filthy and dirty, although they looked to be from a well brand. Madeline's quick steps slowed to a walk, then a halt. She checked the time on the clock outside the grocery store and bit her lip. Kensington Gardens was a few streets over, she could take the boy to his parents and still get to her date.

"I'm already late." She huffed before smiling and extending her hand to the boy. He took it with a shy smile and they started off in the direction of Kensington Gardens. They had only walked a few streets over when Madeline got the eerie feeling someone unseen was behind her. She covertly checked behind her and the boy by looking in the rearview mirrors of a parked car. Sure enough, someone was following her.

"Let's take a shortcut," She said cheerfully to the boy, disguising her uneasy fear. "Go this way." She veered off into a smaller side street that opened into another small street at the end. She made to go right when they reached the end of the first street but the boy tugged her right.

"This way is faster!" He said, "I want to see my mum!" Madeline nodded and let him lead her to the left. No sooner had he done so than a man stepped out in front of them menacingly.

"Bad idea. We're going this way, now." Madeline said curtly, spinning around to lead the boy in the other direction. He jerked his hand from her grasp and sprinted past the stranger. The man made no move to grab the boy as the child disappeared into the swirling shadows of the street. Madeline swore loudly as two more men emerged to stand side by side with the first stranger.

"Ey, now. No lady should be using that type a' language." One of them slurred lowly. Madeline took one shaky step backwards and turned to run, but one of the men lurched forward and caught her arm in a steel grip. He twisted it when she tried to struggle, making her cry out into the dark.

"Belt up, you." He growled. She tried to aim a kick at him, but he landed a blow to Madeline's head that left her ears ringing and her vision distorted. The first man stood solemnly in the deserted street, watching the proceedings. The third man dragged Madeline to him and threw her to the cobblestones. Her head knocked the pavement painfully but she still managed to stagger to her feet warily. The second man stepped forward and made a grab at her clothes, but his hand only latched onto her scarf. Madeline twisted away from her assailants, but the man gave a rough jerk on the scarf and she staggered backwards, choking. The third man caught her and wrapped an arm around her throat whilst the first man looked on.

The second man stepped forward and was fumbling with the buttons on Madeline's coat when he went rigid and fell. The third man loosened his grip around her neck after a blow reverberated through his body and made him fall to the pavement in a heap. Madeline slumped forward towards the cobblestones but something soft and strong stopped her. She felt herself being set upright again by the force and wobbled a second before leaning into a warm chest.

"Call your date, inform him that something came up." A cold voice said. She looked up to see the stoic face of the world's only consulting detective above her; but his attention was focused somewhere else.

The first man.

The stranger casually placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a lighter. The dim light provided by the flame gave Madeline just a glimpse of the man's face. He had dark eyes that looked almost black, and pale skin that seemed reflective.

"What do you want?" Sherlock said hostilely. The man shrugged haphazardly and grinned, his perfect white teeth luminous in the weak light on the street.

"Hi, Sherlock. Did you miss me?" The stranger said in a childlike tone. Sherlock steadied Madeline before pulling a small pistol out of his coat and pointing it at the man.

"Aww, and I thought you were just happy to see me." The man said with a pout. "Did you like the stage production? I was getting the feeling that we needed more _audience participation_. So I took the liberty of enlisting Miss Carver. Hi!" He wriggled his fingers at her, she gazed back at him, still in a daze from the events.

"Phew, she really is a clueless one, Sherlock! Are you sure you want to keep her? Broken toys are no fun." The stranger said jovially. He took a bold step forward, but Sherlock leveled his gun at the assailant.

"You can stay right there." The detective said coldly. "You're not coming near us." The strange man cocked his head slightly and chuckled.

"Did you say _us_, Sherlock? Ooh, what a naughty tell. I think we're going to have a lot of fun this time around." He said. Madeline stepped forward hesitantly, but Sherlock swiftly moved in front of her.

"So sorry about your date, sweetheart." The man said. "But if it's any consolation, I'm not too good of a dinner date anyway. My small talk might have given you indigestion; but let me introduce myself: Jim Moriarty- the world's only consulting criminal." He gave a theatrical mock bow. Madeline moved around Sherlock to stand beside him, drawing comfort from his presence.

"You were my date?" She asked incredulously. Moriarty shrugged and wave a hand at her.

"Guilty as charged, sweetie. Hi!" He said in a childish voice. "That's why online dating is overrated- you never know who you'll meet." Sherlock pulled back the hammer on the pistol and aimed it at Moriarty's brow.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you now." He said coldly. The other man shrugged at him carelessly.

"I honestly can't, except for the reason that you want some fun." Moriarty rolled his shoulders freely and smiled.

"Ew, gross." Madeline whispered. Sherlock took an aggressive step forward, still holding his gun steady.

"The boy in the cardboard box, did you set that up?" He growled. Moriarty shrugged and gave the detective a wide smile that would have been charming to Madeline if he hadn't tried to have her killed.

"Ma-aybe. I don't know."

"Have you been posing as M, then?"

That earned Sherlock a berating laugh. "God no, that woman really believes someone's out to get her. By the way Sherlock, did you know that your toy is broken?" Moriarty said, tapping his temple humorously with a sickening smile pasted to his lips. Madeline stepped forward angrily, feeling the full effect of not having her medicine as she felt anger and cold blackness swell through her chest.

"I'm not broken! I'm fine!" She shouted at the stranger, adding a couple swear words into her statement. He responded with a booming laugh that echoed off of the walls of the street.

"See? There's your proof right there!" Moriarty chortled, Sherlock took another step closer but the other man swiftly pulled out a pistol from his own coat and aimed it at Madeline, then swiveled it to Sherlock's chest. Small laughs still bubbled from his throat randomly, making the hairs on the back of Madeline's neck stand on end. He was eerie, crazy. The man was insane. Moriarty stared coolly at Sherlock, who glared right back. The standoff continued for only a few moments longer until Moriarty swung his gun around his finger and fired one shot past Madeline's right leg at the space between her and the detective. Madeline shrieked and jumped away.

"Oops, careless me!" Moriarty gushed. "Sorry about that. But I was just _bored_." Sherlock's hands tightened visibly around the gun, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to shoot. Moriarty sighed and raked his hand back through his hair casually.

"You're such a big disappointment, I was hoping we'd do more than point pieces of contoured metal filled with more metal at each other, Sherlock." He sighed. "Then again, if you _do_ have the balls to shoot me, I'd be pretty surprised." His tone dropped to an almost deadly tone before lifting back up to an easy, conversational level. The man blew Sherlock a kiss before turning and walking back up the street, swinging his gun around his finger over and over again.

"I guess I'll see you next time, Sherlock." He sang.

"We'll catch you later." The detective said with only a glimmer of irony in his tone. Moriarty turned and gave a low whistle.

"Again with the 'we'. Control, Sherlock control. And no- you won't." He finished in a sing song voice disappearing into the night like he was never there.

. . .

Sherlock strode into the flat purposefully. John was already asleep, and Madeline hoped the slamming of the front door hadn't woken Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock," She said as he tossed his scarf and coat onto the rack by the door carelessly. "Are you alright?" The detective ignored her and sank into his chair, only to spring out of it a second later and begin pacing in front of the hearth.

"Sherlock." Madeline prodded. "Seriously. Are you okay? You didn't say anything the whole way home." He didn't even glance up at her while he continued to pace on the carpet.

"Go." He said.

"Pardon?"

"Go to bed." Sherlock said shortly, "You've had a trying night… Well don't go back to 221C, idiot!" He snapped as Madeline began gathering her things and moving to the door.

"What, why?" She asked, "I'm going to bed." Sherlock paused from his pacing and pointed at the hall leading to his room as well as John's.

"Go sleep in there, I won't be needing it. If Moriarty targeted you once he very well might do so again. One thing you can count on with him is consistency in this category… he won't make any attack exactly the same, but he'll choose you or John as targets; or maybe Mrs. Hudson-" He was back to pacing agitatedly and murmuring to himself, piecing together all the information he had garnered in the evens of the night. Madeline frowned and proceeded down the hall to Sherlock's room. Just before she shut the door she saw him flop gracefully into his chair and lean forward. His eyes glazed over with a focused ferocity as he entered his mind palace.

"Good night, Sherlock." She said quietly as she shut the door.

…

"Sherlock, I never thought you'd actually sleep in your- bloody hell." John backed out of his flatmate's bedroom as Madeline bolted awake in bed.

"Morning, John." She yawned, stretching her stiff arms and back.

"Morning, Madeline." The doctor returned. "Sorry, I saw the door ajar and thought Sherlock was in here." Madeline hummed and scratched her back.

"No, he told me to sleep here last night. He was in his mind palace when I left him." She swung herself out of bed and followed John down the hall to the living room. Sure enough, Sherlock Holmes sat in the exact pose Madeline had last seen him in; leaned over with an empty stare nailed to the opposite wall.

"He hasn't moved an inch!" Madeline said. John nodded and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

"I did." Sherlock said slowly, "I got up a few times during the night- thrice to be precise- and checked on you. You snore." Madeline shifted uncomfortably as the man withdrew from his mind palace and brought his consciousness back to her.

"Um, thank you for checking on me, Sherlock. It was very nice of you."

"And you drool." He said meanly. Madeline rolled her eyes and aimed a lazy kick at Sherlock's shin at which the detective grunted and rose from his chair.

"You want any coffee, Madeline?" John asked, she turned towards the kitchen eagerly.

"Yeah, please. With some sugar." Her words were torn apart by the shrieking of a violin.

"Don't give her any, John." Sherlock called from the window. "She has no need of it to be in her system. Shouldn't you have taken your medications already, Miss Carver?"

"Shut up, Sherlock." Madeline retorted, "Two sugars, John." She said to the doctor. Sherlock pulled his violin away from his chin for a moment to pluck at the strings and tune it slightly before restoring it to its proper position against his neck and sawing away at it beautifully.

Madeline took her cup of coffee and sat in Sherlock's chair, drawing her bare feet up and crossing them over each other as she cupped her hot drink in both hands. The detective eyed her motions but said nothing about her invading his chair. He continued to play mercilessly on the strings, jumping from an A to a G and back to E and D before dancing his fingers up and down the violin's slender neck artfully. Madeline watched him play, and soon John joined her in his own chair and listened. The music was light and fluid, like springtime at first, then darkened and quickened to an infuriating pace. Madeline suspected the music mirrored Sherlock's frustration at whatever he'd been contemplating in his mind palace.

"What do you think he was thinking about?" She whispered to John. The doctor shrugged and sipped his coffee.

"Moriarty is back, John." Sherlock said over the ringing notes of the violin. His companion fumbled with his cup for a moment in shock.

"H- he's back? Again?" The doctor stuttered. Sherlock nodded and kept playing. Madeline looked between the two flatmates in confusion.

"So what do I not know?" She asked. "Who is Moriarty?" Sherlock drew the bow roughly across the strings with a final screech and walked away from the window.

"You need to take your medicine, Miss Carver." He said, Madeline glared at him.

"Who is that man? Who is Moriarty?" She demanded. Sherlock gave her a heavy scowl with his blue eyes that she returned with her own.

"I'll tell you if you take your medication, Miss Carver." Sherlock said coolly.

"Like hell I will." She bit out angrily, feeling the emptiness creep back into her chest again. Just a little over twelve hours off of her medicine and already the feelings were coming back. Sherlock scowled and tossed her medication bottle into her lap.

"Take those, Madeline. I have no patience or time for you and your suicidal tendencies. If you want a hug and a therapy session go see John." He said coldly. John made an intrusive noise to rein his flatmate in and wordlessly demand his apology. Madeline gave the detective a venomous glare and took her pills, throwing the bottle at Sherlock's back as she felt the emptiness begin to fill itself up.

"There. I took them." She muttered, "Now tell me: who is Moriarty?" Sherlock plucked at the strings on his violin absently as he turned to face his neighbor.

"That man," He said, "Is a genius."

**A.N.- So my early college program gets to do everything normal college students get to do- including studying abroad. And we've got one in April-May going to LONDON. WHOO! They've got Benedict Cumberbatch on the flier, it was crazy. I really hope I can go! Did you know that they've got a Sherlock Holmes MUSEUM? Cause I SURE didn't.**

**Reviews are welcome, please! (Desperate face)**

**Thank you all for your support!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.- Y'know what's interesting? That at early college I haven't been compelled to cut myself, but when my MOTHER calls and nags or puts me down I willingly bring out the razors. Crazy, huh? WOW, must be psychology! Sorry, guys. Rant's over, we've breached 1,000 views in 11 days! Oh my God that's amazing!**

**AmalieNico- Thanks! I'm trying to make him unpredictable…. Is it working, yet? Hey, turns out he wasn't M!**

**Review, please! Let's try and match the reviews with the views! (Phew, that's a lot.)**

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 6

"I'll need another of his teeth, maybe an incisor instead of a molar…" Sherlock mused, pacing around Madeline's flat anxiously.

"Sherlock, how many teeth are you going to take from this kid?" John asked, looking up from his work on Madeline's kitchen counter. He was carefully cutting pumpkins from orange and black paper and dropping the shavings into a plastic bag he'd hung off of a drawer handle.

"As many as I need to. Maybe… maybe I need to reexamine the soles of his feet. No, stupid idea; shut up." Sherlock mumbled to himself as Madeline stumbled through the door with plastic grocery bags dangling from her arms.

"Is he still thinking out loud?" She asked John, ignoring the glare Sherlock shot her way. The detective had been insistent that she and John not go anywhere alone with Moriarty once again at large. He had been quite irritated when Madeline left before he had even finished the warning. October was coming to a close and Madeline had been determined to involve all the residents of Baker Street in Halloween, although John had told her the holiday wasn't as openly celebrated as in America and Sherlock had turned up his nose at the notion of "dressing up in costumes and begging for diabetes-laden sweets". So on the day of Halloween Madeline had rounded up a willing doctor and a resentful detective then dragged them to her flat and left.

"I'm not thinking out loud. I am projecting my thoughts." Sherlock said emotionlessly. Madeline stuck her tongue out at him and set the bags onto her couch with a thud. She emptied them onto the cushions all at once, and John whistled.

"Madeline, I don't think you'll need that much candy." He said apprehensively. His neighbor looked at him confidently.

"Of course we will, and if kids don't come by we'll eat it ourselves! Sherlock, do you think you could get some to Mycroft? He likes sweet things, right?" Madeline asked. That earned her a barking laugh from the detective who sank into her armchair with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yes, I think he'd love to get a box of candy from us. It'd suit his personality." John joined him in his laughter, and Madeline-having never met the elder Holmes brother-shrugged and walked to the kitchen.

"Hey, so who do you think we should be?" She called into the living room. She heard the door open and close quickly and heard loud footsteps above her ceiling that were followed quickly by agitated violin music filtering through the floor. Madeline poked her head out to see John sitting on her couch nervously with K.C. curled up contentedly on his lap and purring. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

"Did he-"

"Yeah."

"Why?" John shrugged.

"That's Sherlock." Madeline sighed but soon had another smile on her face, still high on her mania swing. Her medicine lowered her bipolar swings' effects but didn't diminish them entirely.

"That's fine," She said stubbornly, "I'll find him something and he'll have to wear it." John chuckled.

"And what were you planning on us wearing, anyway?" He asked, wincing a little as K.C. sank his claws into the doctor's thigh painfully and stretched. Madeline smiled at him over the soaring violin music echoing from upstairs.

"You'll see."

. . .

The sun was going down, and nobody had appeared at the door yet. Madeline swallowed her pills and chased them down with a swig of water. John stepped into the door of her apartment in a long brown trench coat and with his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He struck a pose and gave her a smile.

"Allons-y!" He cried, to which Madeline applauded him immensely and laughed.

"Now you're not a doctor, you're _the _Doctor. It's awesome!" She cheered, tying a scarf around her neck and buttoning her coat around her waist.

"You're not seriously doing that. He's going to have a cow." John said approvingly. Madeline nodded and fluffed her hair. John noted that it was curlier than before and resembled someone else's hair. Then Madeline turned and pulled John up the stairs back to his flat, where Sherlock was working.

"Come on, Mr. Holmes. We're going to make some kids happy." She announced, Sherlock grunted at her from his microscope and kept turning the dial. He pushed away from the table after John cleared his throat obviously and broke the silence.

"You and John go have fun being frivolous with children- John what _are_ you wearing?- I found a loose tooth in the boy's mouth; a false tooth. And there was an engraving on it." Sherlock turned back to his microscope and adjusted it so he could look at it again. The three wallowed in a thick silence before John disrupted it again.

"So, mind telling us what the engraving says?" Sherlock shook his head and kept looking into the scope. John sighed and turned back to the door, grabbing one of the buckets of loose candy he and Madeline had prepared and went downstairs to sit on the steps outside Baker Street. Madeline stood awkwardly in front of Sherlock's table. She could feel her swing winding down, but she was determined to make it last. Sherlock cast her an annoyed glance while he readjusted the tooth under the lens.

"You curled your hair." He said after putting his eye back to the scope. Madeline pulled on one of the strands that fell by her cheekbone.

"Yeah. Hey would you-"

"And why are you dressing in a similar fashion to me? Halloween is for dressing up like monsters, not people." Madeline had a clever comeback for him about people and monsters, but decided to bite her tongue and not provoke him.

"Yeah, I had to throw a costume together." She supplied. Sherlock snorted,

"Mhm, for a holiday you've been anticipating since you've moved in." He muttered monotonously. Madeline gave a laugh that in Sherlock's opinion sounded like a mouse being stepped on.

"So will you come outside and join John and me?" She asked, mentally checking her grammar and wording carefully to make sure her words worked with her instead of providing a hold for Sherlock to nitpick at her.

"No."

"No? But why not?" She protested, already feeling her mania swing draining from her system. Sherlock sighed again.

"Because I'm busy and don't have time for interactions with you normal people." He snapped. Madeline felt the last of her swing vanish from her mind, leaving her with a large agitated feeling in the pit of her stomach. She marched over and turned off the light for the microscope. Sherlock jerked his head back and glared at her, and suddenly all of Madeline's confidence was gone. Her fingers circled her left wrist self-consciously and began to rub it. The detective's eyes followed her motion and rolled to the ceiling before coming back down.

"Why is this so important? It's a pointless holiday with satanic origins." He said coldly.

"N-not really. I mean, you don't do the satanic-ish parts... Just the fun." Madeline mumbled. "Will you do it, Sherlock?" She asked. The detective made to say "no", to tell his neighbor to enjoy her satanic holiday elsewhere, but his eyes flicked over her wrists and he sighed.

"Fine. But I'm not putting any effort into a costume, and it will be of my own design." He muttered. Madeline smiled at him before darting downstairs. Sherlock sighed again and rubbed at his temples. He didn't have time for this, there was more important work to be done. The detective strode to the coatrack by the door and stopped to survey its contents. Just because he'd agreed to a costume didn't mean he had to adhere to the definition of one.

He smiled.

. . .

"Happy Halloween!" Madeline sang, dropping a handful of candy into a child's bucket. John had received many pointing fingers in his direction as well as a few prompts to quote his character. Not many people recognized that Madeline was dressed like Sherlock, but she didn't mind. The kids grinned at her, showcasing missing teeth; but their smiles faded a little when the door opened and closed behind their donors. A tall man was swathed in a black coat with a purple noose hung about his neck. His pale, dead face was marked by colorless lips and pale blue eyes. In one icy hand the monster clutched a yellowed skull, and its teeth leered at the children vehemently. They backed away and sprinted on down the street. Madeline turned around and almost choked out of disappointment.

"You're supposed to be wearing a costume!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet and bringing her forehead level with Sherlock's chin.

"I am. I'm simply a more macabre version of myself." The detective said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. John rubbed at his temples and murmured "Jesus Christ" into his palm.

"I don't think you can get much more macabre, Sherlock." John said mockingly. His flatmate rolled the skull in his hands restlessly, the only addition to his normal attire. Madeline frowned as she looked at the buckets of candy still full to the brim with sweets. She huffed, blowing a curly strand of hair out of her face. John stared balefully at the buckets, as well and stood abruptly.

"So how about we go on a tour?" The doctor said. "We've got a bunch of cool ones in downtown London. There's a Jack the Ripper tour, a Tower of London tour, a couple others, I think…" Madeline's eyes lit up with excitement, but a little reservation flickered in their depths. Sherlock managed to look mildly amused.

"I can solve those deaths. I think it would be an interesting event." He intoned. John grinned and stood.

"Right then, just leave the buckets of food out here for people to pick up and we'll just head on over; maybe we can catch the nine o'clock tour." He said. Madeline checked her pockets for her phone and her medicine bottle before looping arms with the tenth Doctor and a macabre Sherlock Holmes and starting down Baker Street on All Hallow's Eve.

. . .

There weren't many people on the streets, and it was disheartening to Madeline. The air was only a little chilly, and she was glad she'd worn her coat. The three of them signed up for the Jack the Ripper tour that prowled the streets after all the light had disappeared from the sky. The tour started off at promptly eight, and the tour guide was very enthusiastic.

"So in 1888 there was a total of eleven murders in London's East End. The bobbies were confused about the murder, especially since the murderer only seemed to be targeting prostitutes." He said jovially.

"There were only five confirmed murders by the hand of Jack the Ripper." Sherlock muttered, but a few people heard him and turned around. Someone shushed him and he scowled.

"Sir, there were only five murders that the police were sure Jack the Ripper committed." Someone dressed as a cat in very tight black clothes said clearly. The entire group's heads turned to stare at the woman, who smiled and twirled her hand dismissively.

"I was just saying the facts, crimes are delicate matters. Continue." She chimed. The tour guide adjusted his collar and kept walking, the group followed. John noticed Sherlock's eyes kept darting to the cat woman, who was walking a little ahead of the Baker Street residents and to their left. John's phone began to ring, and he answered it tentatively when he saw the ID.

"Yes?" He said, veering away from Sherlock and dropping back behind the group a little.

"It's a danger night, Doctor Watson." Mycroft Holmes said sullenly. "I need you to keep an eye on my dear brother for me. There are rumors floating around about a new serial killer, so stay with him and keep his brash actions to a minimum." With that the elder Holmes hung up. John closed his eyes and sped up his pace. He drew beside Madeline and whispered in her ear hurriedly. She nodded and the two of them drifted back to flank Sherlock on either side of him. He was still intently staring at the woman walking ahead of them with the tour group.

"And here's where the first victim was found, on Friday 31 in August, 1888 in Buck's Row. Even though it's now called Durward Street the location is the same-"The tour guide broke off with a horrified gasp and stumbled back. The other members of the tour leaned forward eagerly, and some laughed while a few stepped back. They thought it was a dummy body placed in the street to mimic the murdered woman; but Sherlock, John, and Madeline knew better.

"Get back!" John shouted, pushing at the people who grumbled at him while he and the other two pushed through. Madeline reached the edge of the group and stumbled back, clutching at her mouth and wheeling around.

The body was mutilated, its stomach had been sliced cleanly from the bottom of the sternum to the pelvis, and blood formed a gruesome grid as it filled the gaps in the cobblestones. Innards lay on top of themselves in grayish heaps, completely liberated from their owner's corpse. The people in the tour began to comprehend that the spectacle before them was no joke and began to back away. Some of them pulled out their phones and began dialing for the police. Madeline steeled her nerve and turned back around slowly. Sherlock stood next to her as John examined the body. It looked to be a woman, and her throat was slit open in a happy red smile.

"Oh my," Someone said, it was the cat woman. She sauntered up beside Sherlock and surveyed the scene. He looked at her and began assessing her out of instinct.

**? ? ?**

**? ? ?**

Sherlock frowned and looked at Madeline.

**Nervous.**

**Oncoming depression swing.**

**Needs to retake medicine.**

**Horrified.**

He turned his eyes back to the woman in black and tried to read her again but only came up with,

**? ? ?**

**? ? ?**

**? ? ?**

She smiled sweetly at him and returned to watching John circle the body. Sirens built up stamina somewhere close by and drew nearer. After a few minutes three police cars pulled up on the curb and Lestrade and his agents poured out. The woman bumped against Sherlock roughly before winking at him and turning tail to meld in with the other costumed tour group guests that were retreating away. He ignored her and spun Madeline away from the body.

"Go back to Baker Street." He ordered. She didn't protest as she pulled her coat closer around herself and stumbled up the street. Lestrade watched her go cautiously.

"Should I send someone with her?"

"No, don't be stupid. She can walk." Sherlock snapped before stepping forward to get a closer look at the woman's corpse.

"Do you think it's purposefully meant to mimic Jack the Ripper?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock sighed and pulled his pocket magnifier out of his coat to examine the body's eyes.

"Possibly, there might be a chance. It's also Halloween: consider that, Detective Inspector." He muttered. John stepped back to allow his flatmate better access to the crime scene, and Madeline appeared at his elbow.

"What are you doing here? Sherlock told you to go home!" John said, Sherlock whirled around and stepped in front of the body.

"Are you trying to bring on a trigger for yourself?" He hissed. "Go home, and don't think about touching your razors."

"I want to be able to help." Madeline said, "Give me some clues or data or something so I can help."

"I don't need your help." Sherlock said coldly. "Lestrade- have Anderson or Donovan escort Miss Carver back to Baker Street." Lestrade nodded, and Anderson stepped forward. Madeline frowned at the detective before closing her eyes tightly and spinning on her heel to walk away. Anderson followed her quietly. Sherlock turned back to the corpse with a scowl.

. . .

"You're incorrigible." He said ruefully.

"You're insufferable." Madeline retorted. John rubbed his eyes tiredly, this really wasn't the time for a row.

"You're-"Sherlock began, but John cut across him with strained civility in his tone.

"Alright children; calm down." He said, both of them cast him gravely irritated looks that reflected quite well how John was feeling about them.

"_No_." They both said in unison. John groaned and muttered to himself as he stomped off to bed, too exhausted from the day to referee the two's bickering. Sherlock watched him leave coolly and after his flat mate had left the room said,

"Smart choice, that. Maybe you should follow the good doctor's example and hurry along to bed, Miss Carver." He said irritatingly. Madeline drew herself up to her full height and marched right up to the consulting detective. She stood to only about his collarbone, but it didn't matter; she was going to get her point across.

"Mr. Holmes you, sir are a horrible human being incapable of feeling much more than competitiveness and pride. You show no remorse, no grief at the subjects you take on in your work, nor do you regret your actions when you openly shame, humiliate, or frighten people." She was advancing quickly, and jabbing her finger into Sherlock's chest to punctuate her sentence. The detective backed away from her until he was pressed against his bookshelf and felt the 2003 Theorems of Life encyclopedia poking his back.

"You don't care," Madeline said angrily, "You don't even seem to notice when John and I worry about you; or Molly, or Mycroft, or Ms. Hudson. It's like you don't even want us there for you when we _want_ to be." She was choking up, and tears were starting to blur her vision. Not enough, however that she couldn't see how she'd backed Sherlock into his bookcase and had her finger pressed pointedly at the center of his chest.

"Maybe you should've listened and returned home when I said to," Sherlock told her icily. Madeline reclaimed her hand and stared at the carpet in frustration until the detective broke the awkward silence.

"Madeline, what's this really about?" He asked, looking down his chest to see her clearly. She quickly retreated a few steps and wiped at her face.

"Nothing, sorry I blew up at you, Sherlock. I know a lot of what I said didn't make much sense. I'm really tired from a long day and-"

"Your eyes are darting to the left."

"Excuse me?"

"Your eyes, Miss Carver." Sherlock said. "They're darting to the left furtively. You're lying; there is something going on." Madeline bit her lip hard before spreading a smile over her face.

"I must be really emotional right now," She said cheerfully. "Woman problems." She added in a mock whisper. Sherlock frowned at her but decided to let it be; to his knowledge she hadn't taken her medications and was probably having bipolar swings. She waved at him before departing to her flat for the night. The detective watched her go, frustrated at the woman's flipping emotions.

"Normal people are so dull and confusing at the same time," He murmured to himself before checking on an experiment he had fermenting in the fridge and going to bed.

…

John awoke to a loud boom and a rush of hot air forcing its way down the hallway like in a wind tunnel. The force shattered the windows in his room, throwing the glass inside like crystalline shrapnel. He rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor on the side away from the windows.

"Sherlock!" He shouted once the ringing noise had cleared from his ears. "Sherlock!" He snatched his gun from his bedside drawer and stumbled down the hall to his flatmate's room only to find it empty. He continued to the living room and saw Sherlock sprawled on the floor in his nightclothes and bathrobe with grains of glass sprayed over him like snow.

"Sherlock!" John said, rolling the detective over. He had a rather bad scrape under his eye and a bruise on his left cheekbone from where he had fallen, but he was otherwise unharmed.

"That was- new." He mumbled as sirens built up in the distance. "Did all the windows break?" John nodded.

"Yeah, I'll bet the ones downstairs did too from the force of that blast." He affirmed.

"Madeline." Sherlock said suddenly. "Go check on Miss Carver's flat. She may need your medical attention." John rose and nearly sprinted to 221C, passing a hysterical Mrs. Hudson in the hallway. Madeline had been thrown from her bed that was parallel to the windows facing the street, but she had become entangled in her sheets so they shielded her from injuries from the glass when her windows had shattered as well. She had one cut on her temple which John quickly disinfected and bandaged as well as a few bruises everywhere else.

"Come on." John said kindly, "You should probably wait with us until Lestrade and everyone else joins the party." They walked back up to 221B after consoling Mrs. Hudson who had been weeping about being "too old for such disturbances and craziness in the night hours"; however they entered to find the flat empty with no sign of Sherlock Holmes.

"He left again." John said with a sigh, nudging at one of the fallen chairs that had been overturned in the blast. Madeline righted Sherlock and John's armchairs and sank into the detective's, listening to the wail of the police sirens grow steadily louder. When the police finally arrived on Baker Street they found that there was nothing to be done. They dusted for prints futilely and checked on Mrs. Hudson, John, and Madeline before taking a few pictures of both 221 B and C and leaving. John straightened his and Sherlock's chairs and dusted them off before insisting Madeline sit down. She took a seat in Sherlock's leather chair and watched John go about cleaning up the flat.

"Don't touch anything, John. I want to look at the evidence." Sherlock said coldly from the doorway. The doctor and Madeline spun around to face the tall man. He looked around the room agitatedly and snapped his fingers at Madeline.

"You. Out of my chair." He said. She sprang out of it and grabbed a dustpan from the rubbish closet.

"I'm going to go clean my flat." She said, touching the bandage on her temple. "Thanks, John." She beamed to the doctor. He smiled at her while she left. Sherlock meanwhile flopped ungracefully into his chair with a scowl. John took his seat across from the detective and leaned forward with his forearms on his knees.

"Mind telling me where you went, Sherlock?" He asked apprehensively. The detective steepled his fingers and leaned them against the bridge of his nose.

"It's of no consequence to you, John. Thank you by the way for checking on Miss Carver." He added as an afterthought. John blinked at his flatmate incredulously.

"You said thank you." He repeated. "Bloody hell, you are out of sorts." Sherlock didn't hear him, he was already entering his mind palace. John sighed and leaned his head back for a moment, then he saw the fingers of dawn through the shattered window frames. He groaned before pushing himself up from the chair to get a shower and begin the day.

**A.N.- Soooo… this was a scatterbrained chapter…. Sorry. I really love Halloween, and I thought it'd be a nice way to introduce another case and another new character! (Teehee, we all know who it is…) Thank you everyone for the reviews and follows! Oh my GOSH we'e got about 1,078 views. That's HUGE. Thank you everyone!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.- I'm not sure how well John and Sherlock know Moriarty, yet. I want Madeline to be there with them for most of Jim's schemes, but they will still have a sense of what he can do because they will have dealt with him before. THE RIECHENBACCH FALL HASN'T HAPPENED YET, GUYS. Please understand that and stop asking me. (Foreshadowing…)**

**AmalieNico- Yes, he and Sherlock can be quite flippy-floppy. (Mark my words, someone will describe them that way in this story!) I'm glad you like it, though!**

**The Angel in Blue- One, your name sounds amazing. (Like a case John would label on his blog.) I'm having a lot of free time with school and all but it's speeding up and the workload is increasing…. I'll update as often as I can. Promise.**

**1,257 views! You GUYS this is AMAZING. Thank you all very much for your comments, follows, faves, and support.**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 7

Lestrade sat rigidly in his chair whilst Sherlock paced around avidly in front of him.

"So we've got two murders. One's the making of a serial spree and the other was overseen by the world's only consulting criminal." The detective muttered. Lestrade watched him shuffle back and forth, burning invisible treads into the carpet.

"So now we have to decide which one to follow: Moriarty or the serial killer?" Lestrade mused. Sherlock pressed his hands together as if in prayer and kept pacing.

"Yes, but perhaps that's what they want us to do; to pursue one so the other can continue. Moriarty must have a hand in the serial killings." He fumed. John sat outside of Lestrade's office, Madeline was at St. Bart's working so he'd been left alone on his off day from work to babysit his fuming flatmate who wouldn't sit still.

"There's got to be some connection!" Sherlock growled, still stomping back and forth across Lestrade's office floor.

"Easy, Holmes; don't put your foot through the ceiling. You're enough trouble as it is." Lestrade joked. Sherlock turned to glare at him.

"Lestrade if you're going to complain do it in a rhythm I can dance to."

"You don't dance."

"Exactly." The detective resumed his thinking, but was interrupted a moment later by an out of breath Sally Donovan.

"We've found another woman, sir." She panted. "Just like the last." Lestrade groaned and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. Sherlock led the way out of the office, and John jumped up to follow him.

_Madeline's missing an interesting day._ The doctor thought.

. . .

"Edward III, Henry IV… Molly what are these?" Madeline asked, shuffling the folder of papers her coworker had given her. Molly tugged at her ponytail nervously.

"Well, you had ah said you wanted to learn all of our rulers and um, kings and queens- which are our rulers anyway, so I compiled a tiny list for you." She whispered anxiously, twirling her hair around her finger.

"A tiny list?" Madeline repeated setting the thick folder on the counter beside her and turning back to her lab report. "Thanks, Molly but I was just kidding. You didn't have to put this together for me." Her coworker wound her fingers around each other nervously and gave a watery smile.

"Oh, yeah I know. I was just trying to uh, make friends. Sherlock said I should get out and get a life." Molly said. Madeline smiled at her, that probably hadn't been what the detective had intended to say, but it was better that Molly took it the wrong way than the way it had been intended. Her coworker left with a wave as she shuffled back to the morgue, and Madeline was enveloped in an easy quiet silence that filled her lab.

"So." Someone said, she squealed and wheeled around, knocking a plastic pipette to the floor. It rolled along apathetically until it came to a rest under someone's shoe.

"You," Madeline breathed. Moriarty smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders.

"Me."

"What are you doing here?" She said angrily, trying to stall the man before her. Her eyes scanned the surfaces of her lab for anything that could be used as a weapon for self-defense. Moriarty saw and laughed, the sound echoing eerily off of the tile floor.

"Oh relax, I'm not going to kill you. Yet." He added, sticking his hands in his pockets and strolling around the lab nonchalantly. Madeline pivoted to follow him, unwilling to let him out of her sight.

"How did you get in here?" She whispered, clenching her hands into tight balls and feeling her nails bite at her palms. She started to revel at the pain but drew herself back into the present with a heave.

"Oh I had a badge from when I worked here; or pretended to, rather. It's all a long story, I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear it." Moriarty said dismissively, waving his hand in front of his face lit fanning away stagnant air.

"Try me." Madeline said, finding herself at a shortness of breath. Adrenaline was pulsing through her system, and it wasn't from a swing. Moriarty leaned against the counter casually and sighed exaggeratedly.

"It was the first time I met Sherlock." He said dreamily, although Madeline sensed he was being dramatic. "You can ask him about it when you see him again." The buzzing in Madeline's ears from the adrenaline grew so loud it drowned out her hearing. Did he say "when" or "if"?

"But enough about me!" Moriarty chuckled brightly, twirling his hands like helicopter blades to brush the previous concept away. "Let's talk about you." Madeline backed up as he rose from the counter and stepped casually towards her.

"I don't think I fully introduced myself to you, last time. Sherlock was being too distracting. Again I'm Jim Moriarty, the world's only consulting criminal." He gave a little bow and spread his hands like he was in front of a crowd. Madeline kept backing up as he got closer.

"And I understand you're Miss Madeline Carver. It's a pleasure." Madeline could feel danger radiating from Moriarty like heat from a furnace. His voice was low and calm, but his eyes looked dark and wild. Almost like her mind, sometimes. Something cold and hard bumped into the small of her back and Madeline realized she'd backed down the length of the lab and was against the counter at the other end. Moriarty only stopped advancing when the tips of his black shoes were flush with Madeline's scuffed sneakers.

"So I understand you're broken, right? Should we test that?" He asked almost kindly, leaning forward menacingly. Madeline tried to look anywhere but at him, but he was right in front of her and blocked everything else from sight.

"I told you before, I'm not broken." She said in a quivering voice. Moriarty smiled at her with perfect teeth before reaching for her arm and jerking the sleeve up. She tried to pull her arm back but he held it firmly.

"Those look like cracks to me, Miss Carver." He said professionally. "Everyone has them, just some of yours are closer to the surface." Madeline jerked her hand back and pulled the sleeve back down, but she felt some of her uneasiness begin to dissolve.

"They're not cracks. They're scars." She said bluntly, for once not afraid to discuss her marks with a stranger, much less one who'd tried to kill her not even a week ago.

"Mhm, and what do you take that makes you think these lovely marks are scars?" Moriarty cooed in a voice that made Madeline's skin crawl. She shakily dug in her pocket before resurfacing with her medicine bottle. Moriarty stared at it disdainfully before plucking it from her hand.

"Hey!" She protested, reaching for the bottle. "I need those, give them back!" Moriarty leaned closer to her, and she leaned away from him but still kept her arm outstretched for her bottle. Tears began to prick her eyes as the man in front of her and the orange container in his hand began to swim.

"Please, I need those." She whispered. "If I don't I'll die." Moriarty snorted and pocketed the bottle.

"Not really. Not if Sherlock minds his tongue and doesn't say anything to set you off and make you run to your little box. You might have some unpleasant feelings but it'll be fine." He patted her head like she was a schoolchild, still with his shoes touching hers. "He'll also have to keep you close by to make sure you don't do anything silly; and considering his line of work and its effects on you that'll be quite interesting."

"Please give them back!" Madeline said. "Please!" Moriarty just smiled at her and shook his head. He kissed her forehead lightly before stepping away from her and strolling back to the door.

"Oh, and one catch: you can't tell Sherlock or Doctor Watson that you don't have your medication. If I see that the doctor has written you another prescription for anything you'll see me again. And I won't be happy." Madeline leaned weakly against the counter, watching her fail safe waltz out of her lab.

"Why are you doing this?" She called after him. Moriarty stuck his head in the door again with a patronizing and giddy smile on his face.

"Because, it's going to be fun to watch you and Sherlock _squirm_. It's just a game, remember: sideways for attention, long ways for results; and watch out for rust!" He sang, wriggling his fingers one last time before disappearing into the corridor with a laugh. Madeline stood still for a second before her legs gave out and she slid to the linoleum floor. She stared at the door to her lab blankly, trying to persuade herself that it hadn't happened. She fumbled in her pocket for her medicine, but came up empty. She began to feel the tinges of emptiness numbing the edge of her chest. The tears resurfaced as she drew her knees to her chest and tried to ward off the darkness encroaching on her mind.

**A.N.- So YES, it's short; but that's because RomeoBlack123 kept on urging me over text to post it. You live down the hall, woman; just visit me. Anyway… so Moriarty is setting a big scheme into play. Um, I'm not really sure how it's even going to work out… so everyone cross your fingers and reach for a seatbelt!**

**Thanks for all of your support, a new chapter will be up soon! (One that's not as short- RomeoBlack123. Good Lord come and visit!)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.- First things first:**

**RomeoBlack123- Don't swear at me on my own story, woman. I will lock my door and you will NOT be allowed to come eat ramen on the weekends. Byatch. XD**

**shadajoserj- I absolutely love you, you're so sweet!**

**1,572-something views in only a few days! I love you all so much for being so kind and supportive. (A little nervous I haven't seen any flames though… there's going to be a wildfire at the end I guess.) RomeoBlack123 and I were talking yesterday and I was pretty sure I was going to be strangled for Jim's actions in the last chapter. Mwahah.**

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 8

Madeline made her way back to Baker Street solemnly. She spoke to no one and kept her eyes trained firmly on the ground. As she was about to enter the apartment building she bumped into John.

"Oh hello, Madeline. You missed one hell of a day today with Sherlock. He thinks he might've solved the case of the boy in the box." He said pleasantly. Madeline smiled at him and pushed her way inside. "Oh, hey Sherlock has someone- over. It'd be best if you leave him alone." John added. Madeline kept going, she was in no danger of going anywhere near the detective. As soon as she shut the door though Sherlock appeared at the top of the staircase with excitement glimmering behind the boredom in his eyes.

"I'll need you to run a couple more DNA scans for me, Miss Carver." He said, walking down the stairs but stopping a few above her. Madeline shifted and stuck her hands in her pockets up to her wrists, determined not to incite Moriarty to revisit her again.

"I can't do those." She began to protest but Sherlock wasn't listening, per the usual.

"Excellent, return them when you're done." He handed her a bag of clinking microscope slides and a prescription bottle with a tooth clattering around inside it. Madeline felt a sudden pang for her own medicine bottle, held captive in Moriarty's cold hands. A seductive moan made her step back and jerk out of her reverie.

"That wasn't me-"

"I know, it was me." Sherlock cut across her calmly and pulled out his phone. It moaned again and Madeline jumped.

"Relax, it's my client upstairs." Sherlock said dismissively. He typed a couple of words into the phone and put it away.

"After you've put your things away in your flat come upstairs; bring me a bathrobe." The detective said before ascending the stairs and retreating back into his flat. Madeline frowned and rubbed her wrists anxiously before shuffling to her rooms, determined to keep it together.

. . .

When she knocked on Sherlock's door she was immediately answered with a gruff "come in". Madeline entered with her sleeves pulled all the way down and a bathrobe draped over her arm. She stopped short and spun around to face the hallway at the sight of the nude woman straddling a fully clad Sherlock Holmes on his couch. They seemed unfazed by Madeline's intrusion.

"Good you brought a robe." Sherlock said coolly. Madeline nodded wordlessly and tossed the robe over her shoulder in the couch's general direction. Sherlock caught it with one hand and shoved it at the woman, who begrudgingly crawled off of him and put it on.

"You can turn around, now." She said to Madeline, who slowly turned back to face them. She recognized the woman as the cat from Halloween. She was beautiful in every sense of the word; with pale, flawless skin and dark hair that had been curled and pinned back from her face in an attractive manner. Madeline felt a little shabby and dull in comparison, and the other woman carried herself in such a manner that it made Madeline uncomfortable. She looked like she could find people's secrets and exploit them, and that didn't need to ever happen again.

"Oh where are my manners. I'm Irene Addler, _pleasure_ to meet you." She said smoothly. Madeline gave her a weak but polite smile. Irene looped her arm through the crook of Madeline's elbow and pulled her to the couch in a too friendly manner. Sherlock studied them irately as Irene pushed his neighbor down on the couch between them and sat on her other side.

"So is _this_ the one you've been telling me about, Mr. Holmes?" She asked avidly. Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes, portraying how little he cared for them to be in his apartment.

"No, that's Molly from the morgue. This is my new- neighbor." He said. Irene's eyes narrowed for a second as he searched for an appropriate word but they were quickly back to their normal size within seconds. She assessed Madeline critically.

"You're not too outgoing are you?" She said skeptically. "Your clothes are awful, I can promise you can't blow through men like that." She stood from the couch and stretched, allowing Madeline's robe to fall open. Its owner looked at her fingers avidly, and Sherlock showed no emotion.

"I don't want to- um, blow through guys." Madeline said quietly. "I'd actually just like to go back downstairs, now." Irene spun around, the robe fanning out behind her revealingly.

"Why not? That's how a woman makes her way in the modern world. And you can learn so many interesting secrets while you're having fun, too." Her voice dipped into a deeper tone, mixed with a menacing undertone and seductive sugarcoating. Irene stepped closer, her hips sashaying as she neared the couch.

"So, Miss Stranger-From-Downstairs- what are your secrets?" She asked, leaning down and putting her hands inches from Madeline's shoulders. For a second Madeline was terrified Irene would kiss her in front of Sherlock.

"Come off it." Sherlock snapped, standing from the couch and striding to his chair for his violin. "That's not what you're here for; so get down to business." Irene frowned at him as he slid a block of resin up and down the strings of his bow. She collapsed in John's chair with a huff and crossed her legs over each other daintily. Madeline stood and made her way to the door, and neither of them noticed.

"So I'll bet you realized I took your phone on Halloween." She heard Irene say in a sultry voice to Sherlock, who began to play the violin loudly and drowned out their conversation. Madeline retreated to her apartment quietly and curled up with K.C. and her books. Soon John returned from his errand and joined her in silence as they listened to Sherlock and Irene murmuring unintelligible words upstairs.

"Apparently he solved it." John said to her. "It was a kid from an orphanage that Moriarty placed specifically to make Sherlock think it was more elaborate than it really was. No DNA scan because he was an orphan, and I guess he had already been dead for a while. The answer was right there but Sherlock was so determined to find some complex and intellectual answer that he overlooked it." Madeline nodded and turned a page in her book. She didn't mind John being there, it was better him than Sherlock; but now that she had been robbed of her medication she was on edge and wanted to be as removed from her neighbors as possible. Maybe if she could avoid them she could earn her medicine back or _something_. She had the distinct feeling that Moriarty was watching her, John, and Sherlock. So there had to be some way to fix herself up… They heard footsteps thudding softly down the stairs as well as the front door opening. Madeline and John crept to the entrance of her flat and saw Sherlock and Irene standing by the door.

"You know, I could make you beg for mercy. You'd spill your secrets to me as soon as I asked." She said provocatively, standing flush against the detective's chest. She was fully dressed in business-style clothes, and Madeline noticed her robe folded over Sherlock's arm neatly. She made a note to wash it immediately and never wear it again.

"I have never once begged for mercy." Sherlock responded stoically. Irene ran her forefinger over Sherlock's cheekbones and leaned closer to him.

"Would you like to?" She asked in a little more than a whisper. Sherlock looked back at her silently for a moment. John and Madeline were enthralled by the drama ensuing. Irene stared into Sherlock's eyes until he opened the door and pushed her outside.

"No." He said shortly before shutting the door in her smirking face. John stepped into the hallway and applauded his flatmate. Sherlock scowled at him.

"What're you looking so happy about?" He muttered. John gave him a big grin.

"Brilliant job on shutting her down, Sherlock; couldn't have done better myself." He jibed.

"That's because you can't keep a girlfriend for much more than a month." Sherlock groused before striding up the stairs to 221 B. John sighed and shrugged at Madeline, who gave him a small smile and turned to go.

"John, Madeline!" Sherlock shouted, tromping back down the stairs and chock full of excitement that hadn't existed in him minutes ago. Madeline turned warily to face him. Sherlock hung off the bannister of the staircase like a child.

"Pack your things for cold weather, we're going to Baskerville." He said sharply.

"But what about the case on Halloween?" John asked. "Are we not working on that anymore?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous. Lestrade is supervising the body and will notify us if any more murders in the area are similar. Like I said: Baskerville. Pack. Chop-chop." Sherlock said hurriedly.

"Have fun, guys." Madeline said softly before turning around; but Sherlock's voice made her halt against her will.

"You're coming too, Miss Carver. Go pack your things." He said demandingly. Madeline looked him in the eyes and shook her head.

"Sorry but no; I have work to do. Just bring me pictures." She said, trying to sound like she actually had something to do.

"That's a lie. Pack and have your bags at the foot of the stairs in a half hour." Sherlock said in a tone that left no room for argument. He continued up the stairs with John behind him before Madeline could protest again. She scowled and gripped her hands together tightly before trudging back to her room and slamming the door.

_Dammit, he's not making this any easier._

. . .

Madeline couldn't help but feel giddy. The trip to Dartmoor had been arduous, what with Sherlock ranting about a "luminous fairy bunny" that they had been recruited to find as well as the rich history of Devon County and its moorland Dartmoor, which consisted of a tiny hamlet called "Baskerville". Madeline had never heard of it before, but according to Sherlock there was a fully functioning military base on the moor, and that they were going inside. The townspeople seems friendly, and lots of them gave small waves when the trio walked through town to get directions to the Baskerville base.

After asking around they found a tavern, so John and Sherlock stepped inside to ask for directions. Madeline saw a man sitting on a picnic table with a cardboard sign reading _Moor Tours_. He sat playing with a loop of string and threading it between his fingers to make shapes. He noticed Madeline reading his sign and waved her over to him.

"Hey," He said in an English accent, although Madeline was expecting an intense Scottish or Irish accent foolishly. She gave him a tiny wave from her hip, earning her a wide smile from him.

"I'm James." The young man said. "Who're you? Tourist?"

"I'm Madeline." She said openly, James' eyebrows shot up into his curly hair.

"Whoa, an American. Wasn't expecting that. So you lookin' for a tour of the moor?" He said, obviously pleased with himself at his rhyme.

"I'm not sure, actually." Madeline began, "I'm here with some friends for- work stuff." James laughed, and she couldn't tell if it was at her American accent or her awkwardness. His face blanched into a businesslike state when Madeline felt someone standing behind her.

"Making friends, are we?" Sherlock asked irately. John stood beside him, stuffing tourist pamphlets into his back pocket. James blinked, and his hands stopped tangling themselves in the string.

"Bloody hell, I didn't know your friends were both guys." He muttered. Sherlock gave him a strained smile that looked like he was doing his best to be charismatic and polite.

"So," The detective said, plucking a pamphlet from the table and flipping through it nonchalantly. "Tours of Dartmoor's moors. Interesting. And what's this about the 'monster hound'?" He asked. James shrugged carelessly and resumed playing with his string.

"There's a big-ass monster dog roaming this one specific spot on the moor. Not a lot of people see it, but you can almost always hear it." He said a little pridefully. Sherlock hummed and fanned the air with the brochure.

"Got any pictures?"

"No-"

"Then it's not real. Good day." The detective snipped.

"Hey, no- wait! I've got this!" James heaved a cast mold of a track onto the table. It was about a foot wide and deep-set. Sherlock turned back around and couldn't hide the interested look that flickered across his face. James smiled triumphantly.

"So yeah, there are hopes you could see this big fella on the tour. Are you three up for it?" He asked, looking at Madeline; who was bashfully focused on her sleeves. Sherlock looked at the cast for a second longer before spinning back around and knotting his scarf around his neck.

"Nope. Good day." John gave James a sheepish smile.

"That's as polite as he gets, sorry." He said before following the detective. Madeline gave James a small smile and waved at him before following her neighbors. The tour guide slumped against the table defeatedly.

"But I didn't even get her number." He groaned.

**A.N.- Haha, so yes, Boy in the Box is solved. And I have brilliance planned in the next few chapters!**

**Please review! It makes me warm and fuzzy (and makes me update faster!)!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.- 1,858 views?! Almost to 2,000 guys! Ahhh this is awesome! I'd kiss you guys, but most of you aren't in the good ol' U.S. of A.**

**RomeoBlack123- I love you, sweetheart but SO HELP ME GOD if you keep spamming me about ramen I will walk down the hall, break down your door and run away laughing.**

**AmalieNico- I think we'll see James again. Not sure. I make all of this up as I go along.**

**The Angel in Blue- Aww, thank you! We're making great progress, hopefully more people will put in their input so I can put stuff they want in here other than just my whims.**

**You guys are so amazing and supportive!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 9

Mycroft Holmes didn't sound happy. With the slim amount of service available in Baskerville Sherlock had phoned his brother and explained the situation. They'd been rudely refused entrance into the military base. Madeline could hear Mycroft sigh exasperatedly at his younger brother while Sherlock wheedled him to use his governmental position to grant them access. After a few minutes of loud bantering over the phone the older Holmes brother relented.

"But you had better not mess anything up." Madeline heard him say before Sherlock hung up on him.

"Sherlock, why are we here?" She asked, keeping her hands behind her back and maintaining a healthy distance from the detective.

"We're here to investigate someone's death." He answered distractedly.

"That's new," Madeline said smartly, "But who died?" Sherlock groaned and spun back around to face her and John.

"You need to pay more attention. This town is on a moor, but it also has forests. A man disappeared in a specific hollow twenty years ago and his body was never found."

"Twenty years ago? Then why are we solving it now?" John asked incredulously.

"Because," Sherlock said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "His son Henry Knight came to me spouting nonsense about a monster hound. And then there's Bluebell the flying mint bunny from the same area."

"Glowing green rabbit, Sherlock." John corrected him.

"Luminescent vermin." Sherlock spat before regaining his energy again. "There used to be a genetic department on the base," He continued, eyeing Madeline seriously. "That's why you're here. The genetic department was supposedly discontinued about twenty years ago."

"The same time the man disappeared?" Madeline interjected.

"Quit interrupting. We're going to go into the base and investigate. John and I will find connections to the disappearance of Mr. Knight, you will look into the supposedly disbanded genetic branch of the Baskerville Military Base." He said.

"You don't sound like you believe it's disbanded." Madeline said cautiously. Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of him and rolled his eyes.

"Of course; that's because it isn't. When something governmental is 'shut down' that just means they've struck something too important for the public to know about. Like I said, you- genetics, John and I- everything else. Shouldn't be too hard." He said irately. John stepped up to interrupt him.

"Wait, you're just sending Madeline in on her own?" He asked dubiously.

"That's what I said." Sherlock affirmed. His phone gave a moan that made John and Madeline jump. The detective pulled it out and checked it before slipping it back into his coat and giving a smile.

"That's our admittance code from Mycroft. Let's go." He spun and strode pompously back to the gates of the base. John and Madeline followed behind him as he flippantly showed the guards who'd refused them earlier the screen of his phone. They begrudgingly opened the iron wrought gates and let the three of them into an interior yard in front of the towering white walls of the Baskerville base.

"You're okay with going off by yourself?" John murmured to Madeline. She gave a slight nod that she wanted to turn into a vehement head shake when a fully clad Major marched up to them and introduced himself in a booming, angry voice.

"I'm Major Barrymore, in charge of the thirty-second division and the Baskerville Military base! What do you want?" He said. Sherlock gave him a patronizing smile and held out his phone.

"We're here to conduct investigative business on behalf of the British government. I'm sure you won't mind." He said enthusiastically. Major Barrymore scowled at the screen until he spun on his heel and tramped towards the building.

"My colleagues, Dr. John Watson and Warrant Officer Madeline Carver will be helping in the investigation." Sherlock said sweetly. "Officer Carver will need access to all files pertaining to your abandoned genetics branch." Madeline did her best to wipe the look of surprise off her face at her fake ranking. Major Barrymore cut his eyes to her and grunted before typing an access code into the keypad. Sherlock had his eyes closed pleasantly. When the door opened a man in a lab coat strode out, but Barrymore caught him by the sleeve.

"Just the man I wanted to see. This is Dr. Jones, he used to work in the genetics department before it was decommissioned." He said. Dr. Jones laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Actually, I just kinda dabbled in some of the projects and stuff going on over there. Why, who's asking?" He said. Madeline felt her eyes widen in surprise and couldn't stop the smile that sprang across her face.

_Incoming mania high. Watch what you say, here._

"You're American!" She said in awe. Dr. Jones looked at her with an excited expression.

"No way- another American! That's awesome!" He cried, sticking his hand out for her to shake. She took it gingerly, and he shook her hand with enough strength to rip her arm off. When he let go she gave him a smile and stepped back, rubbing at her shoulder a little. Sherlock groaned and clapped his hands.

"Get to work. Try not to let anything slip past your vision." He looked pointedly at Madeline with his blue eyes. Major Barrymore scowled.

"You have twenty-four hours within this facility. After that I will personally drag you back outside those gates myself." He snapped before striding away. Madeline turned to speak to John again, but he and Sherlock were already walking off. Dr. Jones threw his arm around her shoulders heavily.

"So you want to look at our stuff, my 'Murican friend? Come on, the labs used to be this way." He led her towards a cluster of buildings across the yard, while Sherlock and John entered the main building. She couldn't shake, however the uneasy feeling she felt under her mania swing; but it didn't matter. Everything was fine.

Completely.

. . .

"So this is where the labs used to be, sorry about the steam." Dr. Jones explained. The room was a mix of dull grey and white, and very expansive. There was no lab equipment on the counters, just stacks of paper boxes labeled with names and numbers.

"There aren't any files here from the old days." Dr. Jones said a little sadly. "This is just where the labs used to be set up."

"So what did you do here?" Madeline asked as she perused the boxes, trying to think of questions Sherlock would ask. Dr. Jones shrugged absentmindedly as he looked at the room with a faint sense of nostalgia.

"I worked on a project with some other scientists about twenty years-ish ago. Nothing too big, just some recreational projects." He said. Madeline snapped her head back when he said "twenty years".

"Can you tell me what that project was- or do you have to kill me?" She asked teasingly, trying to be charismatic. Dr. Jones laughed in a paternal way and shook his head.

"Now if you were a real Warrant Officer I'd have to answer that. Sorry, Miss Carver but if I value my job I can't say a thing." He said. Madeline got over her surprise and shrugged.

"That's okay. I guess not everything's explainable."

"Yeah, guess not. Here, let me do something about that steam." Dr. Jones said, walking to a switchboard panel on the wall and opening it. With a lot of effort he turned a wheel that looked like it would belong on someone's sprinkler system. It sent a blast of warm steam into Madeline's face. She coughed, and her eyes began to water.

"Oh God, sorry! Hang on, hang on…" Dr. Jones turned the wheel the other way and the steam level went back to the way it had been before. He hurried to Madeline's side and checked her eyes to see if the steam had blown anything into them. She was fine, and soon her coughing subsided.

"I think I'll just look around for a while on my own." She said quietly. Dr. Jones frowned but helped her to her feet and opened the door for her.

"Everything you're allowed to access should be free game since you've got the Major's permission." He said, "And if it isn't just bark at them a few times and tell them I sent you. You can look for Dr. Jaqui Stapleton, she still does some genetics work here." Madeline thanked him and walked down the hallway. Her mania swing had vanished, leaving her with an impressive sense of clarity. Her breath rattled a little bit in her throat, but after coughing a couple more times she felt absolutely fine.

Completely.

. . .

"I didn't learn much, except that Dr. Jones worked on a project in the genetic branch twenty years ago. And he recommended I find Dr. Jaquis Stapleton, she's a genetic engineer. Does that help at all?" Madeline said cautiously. She, Sherlock, and John were all staying at Henry Knight's house right outside of Baskerville. He had told them the story of his childhood, and how he had seen his father attacked by a monster that appeared out of nowhere in a hollow.

"I visit there a lot, just to pay homage to me dad and all… but I've only seen the monster hound a few times. It was on the moor. It was really dark, but I _know_ what I saw."

"Do you?" Sherlock said, steepling his fingers under his chin.

"Yes, and I can swear to you I saw the devil that night." Henry said shakily.

"The devil?" John intoned Henry nodded at him.

"Enormous, covered in black fur and with red eyes. Biggest hound I've ever seen." He said. Sherlock rolled his eyes. John kicked at his flatmate and turned his attention back to his client.

"Do you think you could have just- made it up?" He said. Henry shook his head furiously.

"No, I went back yesterday, actually- my doctor said I needed to start facing my fears. But I've been- hearing things, seeing them, too." He said, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.

"Ooh, a delusional. John, be sure to write this into your blog." Sherlock said snarkily. Even Madeline cast the detective a harsh glare and willed him to shut up.

"I know what I've been seeing, Mr. Holmes; and it's the same thing every time. I see a dog, the same one that killed me dad." Henry said softly. "And two words keep flashing through my head: 'Liberty' and 'in'."

"Are there any other words you can remember?" John asked kindly, Henry shook his head and Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood.

"That'll be enough for tonight, Mr. Knight. I'll continue in the morning, our twenty-four hour visitor's pass doesn't wear off until tomorrow afternoon." He made his way up the creaking stairs to the guest room and shut the door. Madeline, John, and Henry sat in an awkward silence until John stood and bid them goodnight. After a moment Sherlock came bounding back down the stairs, full of enthusiasm.

"Miss Carver, you said Dr. Stapleton, yes?"

"Y-"

"Of course you did. Excellent! I've changed my mind, I'll be spending my night at the Baskerville Base. I'll commandeer the car for the evening." He said before darting out the door and slamming it behind him. John frowned after him and watched the car they had rented peel away from the curb.

"Bloody hell," He said, "I didn't know he could drive." The doctor continued upstairs and Henry offered Madeline his room, volunteering to take the couch himself. Madeline thanked him and went upstairs, willingly ready to sleep.

. . .

Something woke her up. Something outside. Madeline bolted upright in bed and tried to see in the dark. Henry's bedroom faced out into the backyard, just like his living room downstairs. The wall was paneled with large, wide windows, much like the living room with its floor to ceiling glass doors. Madeline crept out of bed, feeling her nightgown swish around her legs. She slowly snuck to the window and tried to see outside into the darkness, but saw nothing. She heard a noise in the backyard but couldn't identify its owner. Suddenly a bright flare of light blinded her, and she stumbled back from the window. As soon as the light began to dim, Madeline ran back to the window again. She could see the light bleeding out of motion sensor flare lights places strategically in the yard. Just before the yard became dark again she saw something black dart across the grass, triggering the lights again. She jumped back with a scream lodged in her throat as the lights began to dim. Something growled in the yard, and Madeline felt fear grip her with cold hands.

"John," She called, trying to remember where John's room was in relation to Henry's. "John!" She shouted louder. She heard someone yell from downstairs and bolted from the room to the first floor. Henry was in his living room, shaking and staring out the windows into the yard.

"Henry what's-"He turned around and swung something in his arm. A gun. Madeline screeched and ducked to the ground just as the lights flared on again. She and Henry both looked to the yard and fell back. A slavering, heaving dog stood illuminated in the glare of the lights. Henry fell back onto the couch, shouting incoherently; while Madeline scrambled backwards on the floor until she hit the far wall.

"Sherlock!" She screamed, "John! Someone help! Help us!" John appeared at the bottom of the steps a second later, out of breath and in his boxers.

"Madeline! What's wrong?" He said, Henry was still shouting from the couch and waving his revolver in his arm. John wrestled the weapon from the man and threw it across the room, then tried to calm him down.

"Henry, Henry stop. I need you to sit down and breathe. Breathe." After Henry was semi-calm John turned to Madeline, who was huddled against the wall and shaking. He gently knelt down beside her and put his hands on her shoulders but she jerked away.

"John- John. The hound- it- the hound. Hound. It was here- the _hound_." She whispered, taking in ragged and uneven breaths. The doctor grabbed a penlight from his bag and checked her pupils, they were small constricted dots; and Henry's were the same. He made sure to remove all knives or objects from Madeline's reach, although he was certain her medicine would ensure she didn't try to hurt herself. John sat the two of them on the couch beside him and they all waited in a hushed and terrified silence for Sherlock.

. . .

He burst through the door loudly around six in the morning, ranting about what he had learned over the course of the night. John met Sherlock in the hall and hushed him, explaining the situation in hushed tones. Sherlock walked slowly into the living room and saw Madeline curled up on the couch, fighting sleep and Henry sitting bolt uptight beside her.

"What happened?" He asked, Henry shook his head and put his face in his hands; and Madeline ignored the question. The detective frowned and knelt in front of her.

"What did you see? I need to know!" He said angrily. John reprimanded him from across the room, but Sherlock didn't listen.

"The- hound." Madeline whimpered. "Big and black, with red eyes." She seemed to be returning to normal: her breaths had evened out and her pupils were slowly beginning to dilate again. Sherlock frowned and stood.

"Make sure she takes her medicine, and give her some coffee with sugar." He told John gruffly before leaving again. Madeline began to swear quietly as she realized the corner she was trapped in. John's phone pinged, and he checked it cautiously after stabilizing Madeline and Henry again.

**They keep calling it a "hound". Have research to do. Call Knight's therapist and have her visit him, bring Miss Carver to the base as soon as it's convenient. –SH**

A second later his phone pinged again.

**If inconvenient, come anyway. –SH**

John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock was getting back to his normal self, too. John found the number for Henry's therapist on the inside of a cabinet door and called her over. When Madeline felt better she and John hailed a cab to the end of the road leading to the base and walked up. The same guards from yesterday were there, and they begrudgingly let them enter again.

After a little bit of asking they found Sherlock talking to a woman in a secluded lab. She was handling a white rabbit and seemed irritated with the detective; just as he was with her.

"-so by committing illegal experimentations on your daughter's rabbit that made it alright." Sherlock growled as John and Madeline entered.

"This is a military base, sir." The woman retorted stiffly, "Lots of things aren't illegal but still happen here."

"You're not helping your case, Dr. Stapleton." He snapped, catching sight of his flatmate and neighbor in the doorway. "Nevermind. Just get out." He said. Dr. Stapleton gave him a harsh look but Sherlock glared at her. "Out. Now. I need to go to my mind palace. John," He said imploringly. The doctor took his cue and ushered Dr. Stapleton out of the room. Madeline turned to go.

"Not you, Miss Carver." Sherlock said. Madeline turned back around and saw that Sherlock already had his eyes closed and his forehead balanced on the tips of his fingers over the table.

"Um, why?" She asked, "I thought you needed absolute silence for your-"

"I would," Sherlock said, "If I was actually going into my mind palace. So tell me- what did you see last night?" Madeline felt uncomfortable being in such close quarters with the detective. It reminded her of her nonexistent medicine bottle in her pocket that she desperately needed. She shakily explained the night's events to Sherlock, who for once listened thoughtfully and took what she said into account.

"Good. I've noticed that Mr. Knight calls this _thing_ a "hound", and after last night you are as well. Explain." Sherlock prompted coldly. Madeline shrugged.

"That's what I saw."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Sherlock sighed and leaned his head forward, then snapped it back and strode to the door.

"Back to work. There's a lab down the hall on the floor below here I want you to look into." He said, Madeline tugged at her sleeves and nodded before leaving for her next destination. Sherlock watched her go, only a little concerned and quite aware of the situation.

. . .

"Okay, lab 104…" Madeline whispered to herself, pushing the door open. The room was stainlessly white, almost to the point of absurdity. What surprised Madeline more was that nobody was in the lab, and it was lined with closed and covered cages. She sighed and began to peruse the aisles between counters and cages carefully, not quite certain of what she was looking for. Eventually she found a side door that led into a smaller observation room separated from a tiny chamber by a Plexiglas wall. She stepped into the chamber and looked around. More steam swirled around her in thin, whispy clouds. Madeline sighed and fanned at it, trying to get it out of her vision so she could see. A loud crash from inside the lab made her jump and clap her hands over her mouth. She slowly crept out of the chamber and the observation booth before reemerging into the lab. Almost all of the lights had gone out, and the room had grown considerably darker. Another crash echoed from somewhere to her right, and Madeline dropped to the floor to be smaller. She saw a row of cages meant for animals that were covered by tarps and crawled towards them gingerly. Then she heard something snuffling, like a dog.

And it sounded like it was right in her ear.

Madeline pushed herself to her feet and began to sprint until she hit something cold and metal, the wall. The snuffling was replaced with a throaty growl, and she could swear she saw two ruby eyes glistening at her menacingly from the depths of the lab.

"Someone help me!" She shouted, "John! Sherlock! Help!" The growl got louder as her attacker drew closer, and Madeline dove to the side to avoid something that sprang at her in the dark.

"Help!" She screamed, trying to get her bearings in the dark. The thing in the lab with her turned towards the sound of her voice, and she could hear the rough sound of calloused paws and claws rubbing on the tile floor. Madeline felt around until she could feel one of the cages, then shut herself inside and huddled in the center of it. The growling grew louder, then faded into silence; but Madeline had no doubt it'd be back.

. . .

"Dr. Stapleton isn't a happy camper; I can tell you th- Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked. Sherlock was sitting in front of a security camera monitor and was flipping through the different camera angles simultaneously.

"Someone help me!" Someone screamed, "John! Sherlock! Help!" John felt himself pale. "Sherlock, is that Madeline in there?" He said, not really wanting the answer.

"Good powers of observation, John." Sherlock said, not taking his eyes from the monitor.

"Why is she screaming?"

"With joy."

"_Sherlock_, why is she screaming?"

"I'm testing a theory on her with the sounds of a wild animal." His flatmate said simply, demonstrating by pressing a button and sending a growl ripping through the laboratory, to which Madeline shrieked.

"Sherlock _no_! You can't do that to her! She's terrified already!" John said furiously.

"She'll forgive me," Sherlock said carelessly, "Always does."

"Stop it and let her out, now." John said angrily, catching sight of the room number on the bottom of the screen and heading for the lab's entrance.

. . .

The thing growled again, and Madeline couldn't help but let out a small sob. This couldn't happen. If she'd just stayed at home…

"I'd rather face Moriarty than this." She whispered to herself before the lights flickered on and the noises stopped midway.

"Madeline?" Someone called. She slowly crept out of the cage, and her legs nearly gave out when she saw John standing in the doorway.

"John! John, John the hound- the _something_ was here! It was- it was here! In the lab!" She said, trying to calm her erratic breaths. John scowled at a resident security camera in a corner of the room.

"No, actually." He said. "That was Sherlock."

"What? But he wouldn't do that." Madeline protested.

"_Sorry, Miss Carver."_ A voice crackled over the PA in the lab. "_I did do that, but it was only for an experiment."_ Madeline grew very quiet, and without warning she brushed past John and retreated into the hallway.

"I hate him," She murmured. "I really hate Sherlock Holmes."

**A.N.- I have GOT to get my homework done! Oh sweet Lord I'm behind on my stuff but I had to finish this or I'd never remember.**

**Remember- reviews make me update faster! (As long as I get my homework done….)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N.- Whoa, ladies and gentlemen we have breached 2,600-something-ish views! That's amazing!**

**Now on to my reviews/ mentions…**

**RomeoBlack123: Wow, interesting that you refer to my favorite character as a "sarcastic little fucker". Love you too, man. And GET your physics test done so we can go hang out! Sweet Lord, I will raid the food bin under your bed if you don't quit spamming me. **

**AmalieNico- Did you really mean James the Tour Guide? Or am I detecting light hints of sarcasm? I'm debating whether or not to bring him back, because I'm pretty sure I'm wrapping up Baskerville in this chapter. **

**And that's it! Oh, and I got a job at the barn where I ride so I can pay for my stuff by myself! It may not seem like a big deal but guys… I'm 14 and going to college. Now I have a job. And I love it. Hell yes. **

**Thanks for the support!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 10

"Madeline, I just need you to go home and sleep it off."

"No."

"I'm not going to let you come with us."

"Well you can't leave me here!" She protested. John sighed and rubbed at his face.

"Look, Henry is taking me and Sherlock to the hollow tonight; and you've had enough stress for the next few days." He said. Sherlock stood behind him and frowned.

"We're going out and you're not invited. Listen to him and go to sleep." They were standing in Henry's living room, and its owner was passed out on his couch. Major Barrymore had seemed almost jubilant to kick the three of them out of his facility after their pass from Mycroft expired.

"I need to complete my experiment, Miss Carver. You must go to sleep for that to happen." Sherlock said irately. Madeline glared at him and John sighed.

"Not the way to phrase that, Sherlock." He said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's getting dark, let's go." He gently shook Henry, who started awake violently and made Madeline jump. Sherlock donned his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck before striding to the door. John and Henry followed him.

"Miss Carver, mind sharp objects and don't make a mess. Goodnight." The detective said before walking out the door and locking it behind him. Madeline scowled and flopped onto the couch, watching the headlights of the car swivel beams of light across the trees before disappearing from sight. She was still furious at Sherlock and a little hurt that he had so carelessly locked her in the lab for an experiment. She was pleased, however that she felt no negative feelings nor any overly-elated ones. She was contently lying in the rare in-between lull midway between her moods.

Madeline sighed and tugged her sleeves down as she trudged up the stairs to Henry's bedroom. She laid in bed for only a few minutes before she was fast asleep; until the lights in the backyard flared on. Madeline stumbled out of the bed again and dashed to the window, terrified of what she might see. A Labrador loped across the yard tiredly and burrowed into Henry's overturned trash bins. Madeline breathed a wary sigh of relief and returned to bed. She slept soundly until the door opened and slammed.

She glanced at the clock, taking in its face that read _3:38 _am. She groaned and rolled out of bed and felt her way down the stairs in near darkness. Something heavy hit the floor across the room from her in the living room.

"John?" Madeline called, "Henry? Sherlock?"

"_Madeline_," Someone panted. Madeline felt around in the dark until she bumped into someone.

"John, what happened? What's wrong?" She asked. The light flickered on in the room, revealing a pale John Watson standing by the light switch across the room and Sherlock directly in front of her. His face was pale, almost chalk white. He seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn't. _He's scared._ Madeline thought to herself, the very notion of it rattling her confidence. Sherlock Holmes didn't get _scared_. He knew everything. Henry stumbled through the door behind John, drawn and white as a sheet. He collapsed onto his couch with a low groan and buried his face in his hands.

"Sherlock," Madeline asked quietly, "What happened to you guys?" The detective slid his hands over his face repeatedly until she guided him to one of the chairs and he dropped into it unceremoniously.

"You were right, Miss Carver." He said quietly. "I saw the thing you saw. In the hollow." John came and took a seat in the chair next to them, looking unnerved but not as shellshocked as the others. For some strange reason Madeline felt her mood lightening, and the beginnings of giddy laughter bubbling in her stomach. _He said I was right,_ her mind cheered before sobering itself thoughtfully. _Shut up, this isn't the time for it._

"Did you see it, John?" She asked aloud. The doctor shook his head quietly.

"No, I got lost on the way to the hollow. I found Sherlock and Henry tearing their way through the woods like mad and trying to get out." He answered. A small hissing noise flickered to Madeline's ears, and she turned to see Sherlock holding the tip of a lighter to a cigarette he had conjured out of nowhere. He dangled the thing between his lips precariously and inhaled it like he desperately needed air. John growled and made a grab for the cigarette, but Sherlock jerked away and held it out of his flatmate's reach.

"Sherlock, you were just getting over it." John said, Henry was still shaking on the couch; mumbling things into his hands furiously. Madeline threw him a nervous glance.

"Um, John why don't you take Henry upstairs to his room. I think I'm done sleeping for the night." She said, the doctor nodded and helped Henry to his feet. They wobbled up the staircase until Henry's door creaked shut tiredly. Sherlock continued to smoke, all the while staring avidly at the empty air in front of him.

"So- mind telling me what happened?" Madeline asked quietly. Sherlock's glare intensified and he exhaled an unsteady stream of smoke from his mouth. Madeline turned her head to avoid inhaling the pungent air as Sherlock began to rant at a furious pace.

"There was no feasible way the "hound" you and Henry saw could have been real- it just couldn't have. But I saw it." He said.

"The hound?" Madeline whispered.

"Of course the hound!" Sherlock growled, "When I was in the hollow with Henry I saw it; this big, hulking monster ready to tear our throats out." He pulled the cigarette away from his lips, glaring balefully at the white stick that trembled in his hand. He laughed harshly before returning the cigarette to his mouth. "Look at me; I'm shaking. Pathetic. My body is betraying me, I'm becoming subject to humanity." Madeline pursed her lips nervously.

"Sherlock, I know it's scary; I'm still scared. I just think maybe we've just gotten a little worked up over this. I saw an ordinary black dog in the yard tonight, maybe that's what we're seeing-"

"Worked up? Worked up?" Sherlock snarled, "Don't be ridiculous, there's nothing wrong with me and I'm not worked up."

"I never said-"

"But you meant it." He cut across her, touching his fingertips together and pressing them to his forehead. The cigarette dangled loosely from his mouth, dropping pale ashes onto the detective's shirt. He ignored them as he growled in frustration quietly. Madeline shifted nervously, trying to find an easy way to break the terse silence.

"Sherlock-"

"_There is nothing wrong with me_!" The detective snarled, "If anything you're the broken one." He added callously. Madeline pulled in a breath between her teeth, reining in the urge to hit him.

"You want me to prove it? Fine." He growled, "Your hair is mussed on your left side, indicating you slept well on that side; but on your right the hair is less disturbed. Apparently you got up in the middle of the night again after sleeping on your left side, then went back to sleep on your right." Madeline couldn't resist contradicting the man.

"What if I rolled over to my other side?"

"Don't be stupid. The hair on the back of your head is in its normal ratty state. You stayed on one side." Sherlock barked. John chose to reenter the room, although Madeline suspected from the look on the doctor's face that he had been listening. He took the seat he'd been in before escorting Henry to bed and reclined uneasily.

"Henry was in an absolute panic, but he's asleep, now." He said.

"Sherlock just deduced my sleeping habits from my bedhead." Madeline explained. Sherlock ignored them and continued.

"Therefore I am absolutely fine. There's nothing wrong with me besides the fact that two annoying _persons_ are _insisting_ that I spill my soul to them. I'm fine, I've never been better, so leave. Me. Alone." He growled. John cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Right, right. You don't have to listen to me, Sherlock. Definitely not to your friend." John said a little angrily.

"Friend_s_." Madeline, interjected, emphasizing the plural. Sherlock glared at her savagely.

"Don't be an idiot I don't have _friends_." He bit out. The three of them sat in silence for a moment. Until John pushed himself up from the chair.

"You know- I wonder why sometimes." He said quietly, although his anger was evident under the calm façade. "Make sure you take your meds, Madeline. Goodnight." The doctor said shortly before continuing up the stairs and making his way to the guest bedroom he was residing in. Madeline wrapped all of her fingers around her wrist and tried to hold back the swinging pendulum she felt swinging rapidly in her chest in sync with her hammering heart. He could be so- so:

"Heartless." Madeline whispered, "You can be so heartless sometimes, Sherlock." He glanced at her dismissively. She shook her head and slowly crept upstairs to another of Henry's guest bedrooms. Sherlock glared vehemently at the cigarette ash collecting on his lapel before retreating into his mind palace to calm his nerves and collect his thoughts.

. . .

Madeline woke up a few hours later to the loud clanging of things being dropped downstairs. She rolled over with a groan and tried to ignore it; but someone shouting nonsense at the ceiling didn't help her one bit. Eventually she rolled out of bed and made her way downstairs, where John was sitting at Henry's bar in an old shirt and boxers and Sherlock was rummaging around in Henry's cabinets, slamming the doors when he didn't find what he wanted and still in his clothes from the night before. John saw Madeline standing awkwardly in the adjoining room and hopped off of his chair, muttering about "being seen in my boxers" and "too early for this". Madeline took her neighbor's place as he trudged up the stairs. She also noted that Henry was nowhere to be seen.

"So what are you working on?" She asked, doing her best to feign nonchalance. Sherlock growled at the kitchen sink in frustration but when he turned around he had an engaged smile spread across his face.

"Because I've solved it." He acclaimed, "Last night I reviewed all the facts about the current events. Henry called the animal he'd seen a hound, and after you saw it you called it by the same name." Madeline rubbed at her eyes tiredly, still trying to adjust to the light.

"What? Sherlock it's too early in the morning for me to be smart. Dumb it down, please." Sherlock ignored her and breezed onto the next subject; ranting to himself more than to his neighbor.

"So perhaps your version of the 'hound' was based off of Henry's version of the 'hound'. You saw what you wanted to see because you already had saved what Henry had described the beast as to you and your imagination used that to fabricate the image of the 'hound' you saw." He said excitedly, bouncing around Henry's kitchen like he was a child on a sugar high. Madeline scowled.

"Nope, no, no, no, no. I know what I saw. My mind didn't fabricate it or anything, that monster was _real_." She objected.

"As real as you wanted it to be." Sherlock corrected her. "The problem is, we've all been drugged." Madeline sat for a second before speaking intelligently again.

"Wait, what?" Sherlock spun around agitatedly, opening and slamming one of Henry's cupboards again.

"Drugged. Dosed. Intoxicated, whatever you Americans call it."

"We call it stoned-"

"It must have been something in the food, or the water, maybe? But no, nobody else has seen the animal besides you, me and Henry except your boyfriend on the moor."

"Who? James? I talked to him for two minutes! He's not my-"

"Excellent, we should probably pay him a visit soon. Perhaps if we have time… but back to subject. I thought it must have been in the food Henry was eating, but I haven't been able to find any trace of any drug of hallucinogenic in his pantry." Sherlock mused animatedly. John came back downstairs, wearing actual pants and a button down. Sherlock pushed back from the cabinets and spun to face his flatmate.

"Excellent news, we're going back to Baskerville." He announced.

"Great," John responded flatly. His tone reminded Madeline that she was supposed to still be angry at the detective, but Sherlock's enthusiasm was infectious. Then she remembered what he had said to her the night before and felt her mood drop like a flat ball.

"Our pass expired." She said before walking upstairs and coming back down fully dressed. Sherlock was explaining something to John excitedly while the doctor listened apathetically. He seemed to be truly hurt by Sherlock's words from the night before; in truth she and John both were. They decided to let Henry sleep off his fright as they set off again for the military base.

. . .

Sherlock flashed an ID card at the guards at the gate, who were different than the ones from the day before. They saluted him and opened the rumbling gates to the blinding white enclosure of the base again.

"We have about fifteen minutes before they notice something went wrong." Sherlock muttered. "Follow me and don't let anyone get a good look at your faces." He stepped out of the car and turned up his coat collar anonymously. John snorted and walked normally beside his flatmate, while Madeline followed behind them. The detective led them to the door Major Barrymore had let them into with the keypad and closed his eyes briefly before punching the key code and opening the door effortlessly. Madeline followed him through it quietly, biting back the question on her tongue.

"How-"

"I listened to the beeps yesterday. Follow me." Sherlock said before veering down another hallway sharply. He stopped and backtracked suddenly, pushing Madeline and John back up the hall.

"Go this way," He hissed, pushing them into a different laboratory. Madeline heard military-grade footsteps pass the room and fade down the hall. She exhaled a small sigh of relief until she turned and got a mouthful of scarf in her face as Sherlock moved past her into the hallway again. She and John followed the detective's coat down the winding white corridors until he threw open the door to another lab and strode in. Madeline went in after him and recognized the woman glaring at them from across the room.

"Ah, yes. Hello, Dr. Stapleton how are the fluffy vermin?" Sherlock said pleasantly. She gave him a vehement look and squeezed the rabbit she was holding in her hands gingerly. Sherlock took two quick strides to the light switch on the wall and flicked it off. All light in the room was eliminated save for the sickly green aura emanating from the animal in Dr. Stapleton's gloved hands. John gasped, and Madeline resisted the urge to reach out and pet it.

"So, you've been experimenting in genetic engineering." Sherlock stated rather than asked. "Good for you, I know someone who knows a few things in that area." He jerked his head back towards Madeline, who could barely see in the light given by the rabbit. "Apparently you worked in the _old_ abandoned genetics department, Dr. Stapleton." Sherlock speculated, "Nobody told me you work in the ongoing one."

"There is no genetic branch here." Dr. Stapleton said defensively. Sherlock snapped his fingers at her and spun around with his coat flaring behind him.

"Exactly, so would you mind explaining to me what the H.O.U.N.D project was? Or is?" He said, still maintaining a vindictively pleasant tone. Madeline could hear John huff and cross his arms, reminding her of her agitation with Sherlock still.

LOOK UP MATHEMATIC RANGE OF FUNCTIONS, DOMAINS, AND WHAT MAKES A FUNCTION AND TAKE NOTES INSTEAD OF WRITING FANFICTION IN CLASS. GODDAMN MADI FOCUS

Dr. Stapleton looked genuinely shocked. Her hands began to flex nervously on the rabbit until she began to stroke it agitatedly. It still glowed with the same pale green hue as a glow stick. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in the weak light triumphantly. He began to circle the woman like a hawk around a mouse.

"You were on the team responsible for the project, but it wasn't as much of a genetic project as it was a warfare experiment." The detective began; Dr. Stapleton spun around to follow him, unwilling to let him out of her sight. "Your original goal was to engineer super-dogs that could strike fear into even Russian soldiers, but after multiple failures you gave up and turned to an alternative." Sherlock continued.

"How did you- how do you know this?" Dr. Stapleton asked softly, Sherlock stopped and scowled at her.

"Please, don't insult me. I used the pass my contacts granted me and did some researching. You, Dr. Alfred F. Jones, and four other scientists were the key researchers on the project. And from what I've gathered you made quite a few advancements." He snapped, Dr. Stapleton's expression became closed off and defensive.

"I'm not authorized to tell you anything about that." She said, Sherlock wrinkled his nose thoughtfully.

"No, I guess not. But should I tell your daughter what happened to dear sweet Bluebell?" He said callously. Dr. Stapleton's eyes narrowed in a protective maternal manner that almost made Madeline laugh.

"You've been talking to my daughter? I could have you arrested!" She snapped.

"Really? Let's see who gets arrested first." Sherlock observed emotionlessly. "She contacted me through the internet; and I'll have you know an eleven-year-old schoolgirl holds no interest for me, Dr. Stapleton." Dr. Stapleton's mouth opened and closed soundlessly like a fish, and Sherlock's patronizing smile only grew bigger.

"Would you be kind enough to show us to Major Barrymore's office? I seem to be a little shorthanded on file evidence." He said, making it more demanding than it should have seemed. Dr. Stapleton closed her mouth and replaced the luminescent rabbit in its cage before exiting, Sherlock and John followed her. Madeline hesitated and stuck her fingers in the rabbit's cage just long enough to graze them over the animal's soft fur before pulling back and hurrying after her neighbors.

. . .

Dr. Stapleton eased into the room after checking that the Major was out. She sat in front of his computer and wriggled the mouse, but a lock screen popped up and politely asked for a password. She typed a couple letter and number combinations into the box, but it just beeped arrogantly every time and asked again.

"Get up." Sherlock said, seating himself firmly in front of the computer and surveying the room. "Eye level. What would be memorable at eye level…?" His blue eyes swept mercilessly over the busts of famous British leaders as well as their memorable works. He saw the picture tacked to the wall of Barrymore standing beside a younger boy with his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"That's James!" Madeline exclaimed. "From the moor!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and kept looking, although Madeline remained fascinated by the picture. His eyes scanned the surface of the desk swiftly, looking for repeated keywords or symbols. His eye caught on the Major's hat, hanging respectfully by the door.

"Man of habit." He muttered, surveying Barrymore's bookcases again. He snapped his fingers suddenly and spun back to the keyboard and punching in _certo ceto_ before slamming the enter key. The computer blinked pleasantly and switched its screen to a blank background.

"I know what you're going to ask." Sherlock said as he began to root through the files stored on the computer with only a little guiding advice from a chagrined Dr. Stapleton. "The password was _certo ceto_, Latin for "swift and sure". It's the motto for the Royal Corps of Signals. Major Barrymore appears to be a strong patriot, and the Royal Signals are normally the first into combat if anything were to happen." He explained while scrolling furiously through folders. Madeline and John shuffled and milled aimlessly behind him.

"What do you mean "appears to be"?" John asked, forgetting his anger at his flatmate. Sherlock huffed and threw him a glance.

"Fine, then he is a patriot. Don't be so nitpicky." John frowned and went back to perusing the shelves aimlessly.

"There!" Dr. Stapleton said suddenly, "That file, there." Sherlock opened it and began to sort through the multiple windows popping up in the monitor's screen. Madeline and John stood behind the detective as his eyes scanned quickly over the scrolling text, taking in words and phrases. Madeline peered over his shoulder and couldn't hold back a gasp as the screen stopped dead.

_**Hound.**_

_** H.O.U.N.D**_

_** Highland**_

_** Organism**_

_** Undefined**_

_** Neurologic**_

_** Determination Program**_

Sherlock groaned and leaned forward, fisting his hands into his hair and squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"I should have seen this coming." He growled. "Why didn't you say anything about this?" He snapped at Dr. Stapleton, who frowned at him.

"You wouldn't slow down." She said simply, "I think I'll go back to my lab, now." Madeline reached out to stop her as the doctor turned to go, but Sherlock laughed once and sat back in the chair.

"Yes, by all means do. The police will be in touch with you shortly. I recommend you get rid of your genetic projects before then." He said callously. Dr. Stapleton gave him a nervous look before hurrying down the hall the way they'd come. Sherlock sighed and leaned forward again.

"So it was a genetic experiment." John said in awe, "That's why I never saw the hound. Because I hadn't had a dose of the drug." As soon as he finished speaking his phone began to ring. "Hello?" He answered cautiously, his eyes widened and he quickly put the call on speaker phone.

_"Dr. Watson. I can't I just can't. Everything is spinning, and the hound- I've got to- the hound. I have to go, I have to prove my dad was right."_ Madeline recognized the garbled voice as Henry's, and Sherlock did, as well. He pushed back from the desk and snatched John's phone before striding out of the office and taking long steps that almost built into a run down the hallway.

"Henry, listen to me." The detective said firmly but calmly. "You need to stay where you are right now. Stay exactly where you are and we'll come find you. Don't go anywhere near the hollow, do you hear? Henry?" He shook the phone exasperatedly and tossed it back to John, who was right on his heels with Madeline behind him. "The service blanked out, Henry is thinking of going to the hollow and doing something stupid." Sherlock growled, throwing the door leading outside open and pushing past a furious Major Barrymore.

"What are you doing back here on my base?" He roared, rounding about and matching Sherlock's strides evenly. The detective ignored his prompt and only gave him a snippet of his attention as he climbed into the car they'd driven into the base that morning. Madeline and John climbed in behind him.

"You should thoroughly check your personnel, Major. You might have a fatal leak." And with that he cranked the engine and sped out of the base's lot.

"So how did they administer the drug to us?" Madeline asked, leaning between the front seats to get a clear look at where Sherlock was taking them. The sun was beginning to dip itself behind the grassy hills, and a small chill made itself known at the base of Madeline's spine. Sherlock's grip tightened on the steering wheel agitatedly as he pressed the pedal down further.

"I don't know." He said bitterly, "But I will figure it out."

. . .

"Henry!" John shouted, swinging the beam of his flashlight across the trees hurriedly. "Henry, where are you?" A short distance away in the woods, Madeline seconded his shouts, and Sherlock pushed ahead to lead them to the hollow.

It was a large space, ringed ominously with towering trees and dense shrubbery. Henry Knight was kneeling in the center of the hollow, and white mist swirled around him eerily, lending a mystical setting to the scene. Madeline, Sherlock, and John stopped at the edge of the hollow above Henry's position; but Madeline saw something shiny glint in Henry's hand.

"I'm so sorry, Dad." He muttered to himself before leaning his head back and opening his mouth to insert the silver muzzle of the gun he held.

"Henry!" Madeline shouted, starling the man. She slipped and slid her way down the slope to him and stopped a few feet away. "Henry, please put down your gun. There's a different way to go about this." She whispered softly, but he shook his head roughly.

"No, I'm tired of the voices." Henry said, his voice hoarse from tears. "They're talking, and I keep on seeing the hound. I want it over. This is the only way to fix it for good." He leaned his head back again, and Madeline took another step forward. She could hear Sherlock and John sliding to a stop behind her, unable to move closer because of the tense situation.

"No, no that won't fix it, okay? Trust me, it won't make the voices go away; and you'll just see the hound even more." Madeline said, trying to coax Henry to calm down. Her words had the opposite effect, he gave an anguished shout and shoved the gun into his mouth. The relentless metal muffled his yells and made Madeline panic.

"Henry, no!" She shouted, darting forward until she was right beside him. She didn't touch him because his finger was already wrapped around the trigger; but she did her best to iron the wavering tone from her voice and to sound assertive.

"Henry please. Don't do this. It won't work the way you think it will." She said softly to him. Henry's eyes were wide open and stared at the canopy of trees above his head, they slowly began to relax and return to a normal state; and he pulled the gun out of his mouth gingerly.

"There you go," Madeline said gently, "I need you to give me the gun now, Henry." He shook his head like a child and clutched the weapon to his chest. Madeline was about to ask him again, but Sherlock and John were at her side in an instant.

"Good job," Sherlock said shortly before beginning to examine Henry with John and stand him up. The man refused to relinquish his hold on the gun, though. A low growl echoed through the mist and reverberated off of the trees. Madeline spun around, feeling cold spikes of icy fear stab at her lungs, shooting fire through her veins.

"Sherlock," She whispered; the mist at the top of the banks surrounding the hollow churned rapidly until it parted to reveal a hulking black figure standing menacingly in the dark on four paws. It growled, revealing long fangs that gleamed in the last light of the day. Henry moaned and shook his head rapidly, the gun rattled in his hands uncertainly. Madeline turned to Sherlock and John for reassurance, but John looked frozen to the spot, and Sherlock's eyes were wide open with disbelief, shock, and just a touch of fear. Something else moved behind him; he spun around furiously and landed a sound blow to the second figure's head. The stranger shouted in pain and crumpled to the ground, but Sherlock caught him by his coat and held him upright. Madeline spun around and saw him tear something off of the stranger's face and stumble back in shock.

"No! No! You're not here!" Sherlock shouted, pushing the stranger back. John's erratic flashlight beam swept over the stranger's face, revealing the kindly features of Dr. Jones from Baskerville.

"What are you doing here?" Madeline asked, Dr. Jones ignored her and pointed at the dog; it stepped forward menacingly with a growl ripping from his throat. Sherlock stepped back from Dr. Jones, his eyes roving wildly around the hollow. The mist swirled around him as he spun around and snatched what he had torn from Dr. Jones's face. A gas mask.

"The air. The drug, it's in the air!" Sherlock shouted, "Don't breathe it in!" Madeline's hands flew up to cover her mouth, dropping her flashlight to the ground. Its beam rolled to a stop on the demon hound on top of the hill. It growled and took a flying leap to the base of the hollow, landed in front of John and let loose a deep growl. The doctor covered his nose and mouth with his coat sleeve and swung his light at the dog, but it growled and snapped its jaws at him. It clamped down on the edge of John's sleeve and jerked him forward, sending him sprawling onto the carpet of leaves.

"John!" Sherlock shouted to him, "Stay still!" Dr. Jones snatched his gas mask back and replaced it onto his face. Henry began to shake uncontrollably.

"You." He stammered, "I saw you, not the dog. It was you!" With an inhuman scream of rage he tacked Dr. Jones to the ground, and Madeline took a flying step forwards to try and pull them apart.

"You killed him!" Henry howled, "You killed my father!" Dr. Jones had wrestled the gas mask back onto his face, and light was glinting eerily off of the eyepieces. The dog snarled at the movement and leapt forward with its fangs bared. Sherlock dove to the ground and grabbed up the gun Henry had dropped in his haste to get to Jones. The detective rolled over and fired two shots into the center of the dog's chest, throwing the monster back onto the leaves and mulch in the mist. The hound whined pitifully and struggled to get to its feet, but Sherlock fired one more shot at it and it fell to the ground in a limp heap of skin and bones. The sudden noise and reverberating echoes of the gunshots froze everyone, including Henry and Madeline. Dr. Jones kicked at Henry's stomach and pushed himself to his feet, disappearing into the swirling white mist creeping into the hollow. Henry sprinted after him, and Madeline followed right on his heels.

"Madeline, stop!" John shouted, staggering to his feet. Sherlock stood warily and clutched the gun in his hand before taking off after them, John followed suit. They raced between the trees, trying to follow the cracks in the underbrush from Madeline, Henry, and Dr. Jones. The white mist lessened and faded until it only appeared in thin white wisps. The tenants of 221 B ran through a line of trees and passed Henry struggling to his feet and brushing leaves from his jacket. John stopped to help him up, but Sherlock kept going.

"Mr. Holmes! I advise you stop right there!" Someone called. The detective wheeled around uncertainly, trying to find the source of the voice. He pushed through another layer of trees until he emerged on an enormous, empty field with Dr. Alfred F. Jones and Madeline standing near the edge a few feet apart from each other. Sherlock started into the field angrily, but Madeline shrieked.

"No! Sherlock get off the field!" She shouted, waving her hands in front of her. The detective stopped short at the panicked tone in her voice and even took an uncertain step back. Dr. Jones smiled widely and removed the gas mask from his face.

"Take a look around you, Mr. Holmes." He called, "This is Baskerville's mine field. One false step and these mines will go off like fireworks!" Madeline had her elbows pressed to her sides and her hands splayed out like a bird, trying to keep her balance. "We're between the mines, now; but you should be careful-"Jones sang, his voice cracking and hinging on the edge of madness. Sherlock took a step forward and leveled the gun at him but Dr. Jones made a show of stepping on something on the ground with a metallic _click_. Madeline gasped. Jones laughed and applied more pressure with his boot.

"Relax, they're only triggered by weight application and removal. It won't go off until I step off of it." He said. Sherlock growled and slowly lowered the gun as John and Henry stepped out beside him. Madeline shifted her weight towards the edge of the field but Dr. Jones cut his eyes to her menacingly.

"Don't even think about it." He snapped before turning back to Sherlock. The detective's eyes narrowed.

"So you and Jaquis Stapleton along with other scientists were trying to make super-hounds, but then turned to a hallucinogen after that failed." He speculated.

"Yeah, so?" Jones said with an aimless shrug. Sherlock flipped the gun back and forth in his hands indecisively, all the while glaring at Dr. Jones. John looked like he was restraining Henry from rushing into the field and decking Jones, and Sherlock looked like he was restraining himself from doing the same thing with the gun.

"You've as good as killed yourself." Sherlock snapped, Dr. Jones shrugged and smiled at the detective.

"It's fine, Barrymore was going to kick me out of the base soon, anyways."

"So you covered up Walter Knight's death and made sure that no one would believe his son." Sherlock stated. Jones nodded, smiling almost giddily.

"He worked on the team, but he was objected to the idea of using our stuff for military purposes. Why even join if you're not on board!" He shouted to the open sky. Madeline inched towards the edge of the field, but Jones snapped his eyes in her direction with a glare.

"Don't even think about it." He said, his voice now almost void of emotion.

"Sherlock, help." Madeline pleaded quietly. The detective held out his hand in a "calm down" motion.

"So you used the hallucinogen to make Henry's reputation unstable and his stories unbelievable. Whenever he visited the hollow something would trigger a dosage of the neuro-gas to distribute itself into the hollow and sedate him into a hysterical state again." Sherlock said. Jones smiled and nodded, and everything happened at once.

Sherlock raised the gun.

Madeline dove to the side.

Dr. Jones lifted his boot.

The gun went off.

Then everything went white in a flash of light and a clap of thunder.

**A.N.- Well…. That happened. Um, I had expected to have this done sooner. Like a week sooner. Oh well.**

**Anyways, I started to watch Ghost Hunt, and I can tell you, this is one of the less hardcore anime. Seriously. Anyway… I posted a song fic-slash-one-shot challenge RomeoBlack123 (that stupid traitor) challenged me to do. It's a separate story because I didn't want to spam you guys with something and get hopes up that I'd had a new chapter done. (Haha, you'd all be so disappointed.) You can find it from my profile page, though.**

**And remember: Reviews make me work faster! Thanks!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N.- Wow. Huston, we've breached 3,170… thanks you guys for all the support!**

**To clear something up- yes, a nickname for Madeline is commonly Madi. But I have not intended to model this OC after me. It's something I strongly disapprove of amongst writers to a great extent. That's why you won't see John or Sherlock call her by such a nickname- I have no desire for Madeline to be my avatar in Sherlock's world whatsoever. She is a separate character, please remember that.**

**TheParadoxialOxymoron- Shhhh! I was waiting for someone to notice and say something. XD Glad you caught the references! (Hetalia day is later this month, so I had a what the heck phase)**

**Reviews make me post a little faster! (The more you know!)**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 11

The force of the blast made John stagger, and his vision was dominated by white flares and flashing lights. Madeline was thrown to the side, just barely clearing the edge of the mine field. Sherlock braced himself against the blast and clutched the gun tightly in his hand; shielding his eyes from the debris flung around by the explosion. When the light dimmed, there was a medium sized crater where Dr. Jones and Madeline had been standing. There was no sign of Jones, but Madeline was lying unconscious on the edge of the field. John let go of Henry and sprinted to her, shining his light around on his way over.

The left side of her face was bloody, but other than apparent bruises and scratches she seemed to be fine. Madeline soon began to slowly regain consciousness, stirring awake with John supporting her neck and Sherlock standing behind the doctor's shoulder.

"Madeline, are you okay?" John asked, she heard him; but his voice sounded distorted and muffled. She sat upright, but he gently pushed her back down with murmurs of doctoral nonsense she couldn't hear. She tried to sit up again, but the world began to spin wildly. John pushed her back down and the sky began to tilt into an inky blackness.

. . .

"So what happened?"

"I shot the gun at a mine, Dr. Jones stepped aside and both of the mines went off. You didn't move fast enough and got thrown."

"You're going to have to speak louder, my hearing is still muffled." Madeline muttered, rubbing at her left ear. The blood on her skin was gone, but she was having trouble hearing anything on her left side. She was currently perched on Henry's couch with John to her right, Henry to her left, and Sherlock standing irately in front of her. The detective scowled at her as he tapped his finger crossly on his arm with evident impatience. Madeline frowned back at him until Henry broke the tense silence.

"But what about those words I saw?" He asked. Sherlock's expression brightened considerably, and he began to pace agitatedly.

"Excellent question, Henry!"

"W- really?"

"No, shut up." Sherlock snapped, continuing to pace. John sighed and tried to reach over and check Madeline's pulse, but she swatted his hand away. "The night I spent at Baskerville-"

"You mean when we were legally allowed to be there?" John asked, earning him a glare.

"I researched the genetic branch. Apparently it spanned into a larger scheme of networks that were categorized underneath warfare usages. The words you saw were "Liberty" and "In". At first I thought it was just you being stupid and remembering something from another ordinary day, like an earworm." Sherlock continued, Henry opened his mouth angrily; but the detective cut across him carelessly. "But apparently not, so I researched the branches farther and found that there was an experimental test site located in Liberty, Indiana in the United States." Madeline couldn't help the surprised look that ran across her face like water on oil before disappearing. Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her reaction dismissively.

"My thought is that you accidentally saw some papers of your father's. Either that or he showed them to you as a precaution because he realized that his coworkers were becoming distrustful of him. Then Dr. Jones killed your father in your presence but made sure the drug was dispersed into the air so you'd think he was some monster… probably played growling noises to complete the effect, too." He mused, tucking his hand under his chin thoughtfully as he paced. Madeline pulled herself into a ball on the couch, following the detective's movements with her eyes.

"Wow, you seem to know a lot about the drug." She said bitterly. John plucked distractedly at his torn sleeve the dog had ripped the night before, obviously still irritated with his flatmate. Sherlock avoided looking at them and instead surveyed Henry's backyard through the glass windows.

"It was in the base, everywhere. You got a dose of it when you were in the lab, Miss Carver and it lasted until later that night when you saw the hound with Henry. Judging from how long that took to wear off I think we should all be clean of the drug by nightfall." He said absently. Madeline rubbed at her ear in frustration.

"It feels like there's water in my ear." She complained. Sherlock frowned and typed a few words into his phone emotionlessly, ignoring her.

"I think that might be an issue." John said, snapping his fingers by Madeline's left ear. She flinched at rubbed at her ear, still trying to get the sound back. Sherlock snorted dismissively and slid his phone back into his pocket.

"Good news, there's a case waiting for us at home. Mycroft has been kind enough to procure tickets back to London for us, and he was _insistent_ that he speak with us." Sherlock's voice started out cordial, but dropped to a restlessly hateful tone by the end of his statement.

"He doesn't like Mycroft much, does he?" Madeline whispered to John.

"I'm not the partially deaf one, Miss Carver- I can hear you." The detective snapped before disappearing upstairs.

A few hours later the tenants of 221 Baker Street were in Dartmoor's small airport, waiting to board a tiny jet that Mycroft had ensured would take them straight to London's airport. John shook hands with Henry professionally, as did Madeline, and Sherlock gave the man an acknowledging nod when Henry turned to him gratefully.

"Thank you all. I think I would have gone insane if you hadn't come when you did- and thanks, Miss Carver for the thing with the gun and all." Henry said awkwardly, Madeline gave him a small encouraging smile, not trusting herself to talk about the event aloud. As she, John, and Sherlock were boarding the tiny jet Madeline turned and leaned out of the door.

"Henry!" She shouted, "Find James and tell him to stay away from the moor!" He waved back at her and she withdrew into the plane with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

"I don't see what you're so happy about." Sherlock said. Madeline frowned at him, remembering her agitation with the detective.

"I don't want people going back to or anywhere near that hollow. The gas is dangerous, and it's scary. I'm trying to help people; and at least I don't gas them on purpose." She said coldly, the last statement coming out more vehemently than she expected. The three of them sat in silence as the jet began to rumble its way down the runway and take off. Sometime after the landing gear had folded in on itself Sherlock coughed like something was wedged in his throat.

"You have my… apologies for that." He muttered, John turned his attention to his flatmate and Madeline perked up. Sherlock glared at them to balance out his words. "It was for the case, so I had to; but- there." And he left it at that. Madeline snuggled into her seat across from her two neighbors and soon fell asleep to the lull of the jet's engines, as watery as they sounded through her ear. John passed out soon after, leaving Sherlock to study his hands and the interior of the jet's cabin aimlessly. His eyes drifted over John, whose head was leaning against the window unconsciously with his mouth hanging open. Sherlock studied the twitch in his flatmate's fingers as he slept, obviously in some kind of dream. The detective rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the cabin.

_**Phenom 300.**_

_**Halted production in 2009.**_

_**Pratt and Whitney engine.**_

_**Capable of 324 mph.**_

_**Brazilian leather seats.**_

Sherlock's eyes drifted around the cabin of the jet until they swept over Madeline. She was snoring softly and had her tucked under her head like a pillow and her legs curled up underneath her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration like she was focusing hard on something. Sherlock subconsciously brought his eyes to her semi-exposed wrists and swept over them. Clean. He banished the small sigh of relief he felt and began to amuse himself by withdrawing into his mind palace.

. . .

Madeline jolted awake about two hours later with a sharp intake of breath and wide eyes. Sherlock withdrew from his mind palace and glanced at her out of annoyance.

"What?"

"Nothing- just a dream." She said, feeling her breathing and heart rate return to normal. Sherlock frowned and assessed her condition.

"It looked like a bad one. I haven't seen you take your medication in a while, Miss Carver; perhaps you should take your dosage for the afternoon." He said critically, almost mockingly. Madeline glared at him.

"I took it, I'm fine." She said carefully. Sherlock grunted like he didn't believe her and cast a look at John, who was still out cold.

"He has my cigarettes." Sherlock said bitterly. "I need one." Madeline shifted her position and crossed her legs together on the leather seat.

"Yeah, so I notice you smoke." She stated. "But you never smell like a pack of cigarettes." The detective shrugged dismissively at her, drumming his fingers agitatedly on his armrest.

"I need some," He growled. Madeline gave him a wary look and looked out the window.

"It's funny, I'd just never seen you smoke before now. You looked really stressed that one night, and John made it sound like you were getting over an addiction." She observed thoughtfully. Sherlock shot her a patronizing glare and rolled his eyes.

"So we both have an addiction. Bravo. It doesn't curb my need for a stick of nicotine; and _John_ won't let me have any." He muttered. The way he phrased his words took Madeline aback. It was different; not in a bad way, just a different side of the detective. It almost amused Madeline to see him so frustrated over a cigarette. The entire cabin gave a jolt as the landing gear began to descend, Sherlock woke up John by prodding his shoulder forcefully and demanding a cigarette, to which John responded that Sherlock had "stolen Henry's stash of them in Baskerville, and we don't have any at home and it's your fault for breaking the habit". Madeline followed the two bickering flatmates off of the jet quietly, completely absorbed in her thoughts.

_He said we both have an addiction._ She thought a little tenderly. _It's like a dystopian connection or something._ She quickly shook the silly thought from her head when Sherlock dropped her bag on the dirty ground and nudged it towards her with his foot as John staggered behind him carrying both of their luggage.

. . .

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Carver. Sherlock has told me _so _much about you." Mycroft Holmes said cordially as he shook Madeline's hand in his brother's flat.

"Oh, he has?" Madeline asked nervously, fighting the urge to run to her room and hide under the bed sheets. Mycroft Holmes emanated power and intimidation, both of which were battering Madeline's social confidence like winds in a storm.

"Oh yes, like how you have a gray tabby cat and read lots of books. You also wear contacts instead of glasses, but you have a habit of chewing on the ends of the frames, anyway." Mycroft said.

"Oh come off it." Sherlock snapped from his chair. "I never told you anything. Quit reading her and take a seat." He gestured with his violin bow at John's chair; at which Mycroft grimaced and sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion like it was radioactive. John huffed and took a seat with Madeline awkwardly on the couch.

"So he can read people, too?" Madeline whispered, John nodded and watched the brothers intently. They both emitted a hateful mood towards each other, that much was obvious. They began to discuss the Baskerville case, with Sherlock omitting nothing and disclosing everything.

"Then Dr. Jones stepped off of the mine he had been on and my shot triggered another one. The resulting explosion killed him instantly and threw Miss Carver to safety." Sherlock didn't even glance at her as he said her name. Madeline fidgeted with her fingers, weaving them together and pulling them apart nervously.

"And now I'm kind of deaf." She blurted suddenly, earning her chastising glances from the brothers. "Um, Sherlock said you have good ties with- people. Is there any way you can fix that?" She asked quietly, more timid now that she had their attention.

"Maybe you should think before chasing criminals onto active minefields, Miss Carver." Mycroft sniffed, Sherlock shot him a glance and the elder brother amended himself more politely.

"I'm afraid I don't have _those_ ties. Besides, you're only cocking your head to the right a little bit, so the deafness is only partial." He concluded dismissively, waving his hand in front of his face as if to ward off a bee. Sherlock glared at his brother irritatedly and picked up for him.

"It should wear off soon. You might always have some hearing trouble, but that's life. Back to the case, Mycroft." He said meaningfully, swinging his violin bow around his finger impatiently. His brother scowled and reclined in John's chair, thumping the end of his umbrella against the floor irritatedly. They began to discuss the newest case that Lestrade had found, but Madeline began to tune them out after the first few words. She fiddled with her fingers while John sat forward, listening intently. Madeline began to hum to herself absently, losing herself in her mind and finding small crevices in her mind to explore and amuse herself with. Mycroft glared at her disruptive noises, but Sherlock sawed his bow over the E string sharply to recapture his attention.

"You were saying?"

"I was saying, Brother Dear that you need to start watching your step. You're already beginning to sink to- normal standards." Mycroft cast a disapproving glance at the couch, and John frowned back while Madeline smiled brightly at him. "Moriarty will try to exploit them, you know that." Mycroft continued in a lower tone. Sherlock's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he began to play his violin loudly and disruptively. Mycroft groaned and stood, hooking the curved end of his umbrella over his forearm regally and snatching his coat from the rack by the door. He gave a curt nod at John and Madeline before grimacing at his brother and descending the stairwell regally and leaving.

"So that was the great Mycroft Holmes." Madeline muttered after him. "It wasn't what I was expecting, but then again I don't know _what _I was expecting." She turned to Sherlock cautiously.

"So why do you two hate each other?" She asked, Sherlock stood and strode to the window; dancing his fingers up and down the violin's neck artfully and pulled the bow across the strings with precision and grace.

"What are you talking about? Mycroft and I don't hate each other." He said dismissively, John snorted from his couch and tried to cover it with a cough.

"I may not be as smart as you, Mr. Holmes; but I can still tell when people don't like each other. Jeez." Madeline huffed playfully, Sherlock rolled his eyes and tucked his violin under his arm thoughtfully and spun away from the window.

"We don't hate each other, Mycroft is a- what is he, John?"

"A git."

"Exactly. Excellently put. Now hurry up, we're heading to the police station." Sherlock grabbed his scarf and wound it around his neck, John sighed and plucked his coat from its hanger. Madeline followed them into the hall and then deviated to her room.

"Love to tag along guys but I have work." She sighed wistfully. John lent her a sympathetic glance and Sherlock ignored her, breezing down the stairs and out the door without so much as a backwards glance.

"I'm sure he wishes you could come with us." John said before hurrying out the door after his flatmate. Madeline made a disbelieving noise before returning to her room to grab her bag and catch a cab to St. Bart's in the street.

"You should make an effort to be nicer to her." John stated after he and Sherlock had arrived at the police station. "You did almost deafen her." Sherlock made a small grunting noise and pushed the doors open, seemingly ignoring him. John chuckled and followed him.

. . .

The day passed uneventfully, with a couple complimentary visits from Molly and only a few samples to analyze. Everything was quiet until closing time.

"I'll go down by Sherlock's lab." Madeline murmured to herself before closing up. She made sure to securely lock her door, something she'd become increasingly paranoid about since Moriarty's visit. She pocketed her key and hopped down the steps two at a time until she reached the floor holding the lab Sherlock often commandeered. She could hear someone muttering and the clink of vials coming from inside.

Madeline slowly eased the door open and slipped inside the lab as quietly as she could, knowing how much Sherlock hated to be disturbed. The detective was perched meticulously on the edge of a lab stool by the counter, deep in thought. Madeline skirted the tables until she came up on Sherlock's left side. He didn't notice her and kept staring intently at the table surface in front of him. Madeline noticed a brown and red tinged cloth spread out on a silver tray like a lab specimen. She could barely make out faded black strokes on the cloth, and tilted her head to read it better. Her arm accidentally brushed Sherlock's shoulder, and he jolted backwards in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, "Why didn't I hear you come in?"

"You were in your mind palace." Madeline said as he stood from the stool and rounded on her. "I was closing up for the day and checked to see if you were working in here." Sherlock rolled his eyes and took his seat again.

"That's incessant, do you come by here every day at this time to see if I'm here?" He asked condescendingly.

"Wha- no!" Madeline said defensively, "You'd gone to see Lestrade earlier so I was certain you'd be working day and night on whatever case he had for you." She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left hip defiantly. Sherlock looked at her curiously, debating whether or not to read her. He decided to hold back when John's nagging swept through his mind: _You should try to be nicer to her_. He sighed. Fine, then; an experiment, nothing more.

"You were certain?" He said lowly.

"W- no. I had a hunch. You'd probably either be here or in your kitchen working on something. Where's John?" Madeline said, growing a little nervous.

"He went home. It's late afternoon, you should be returning home as well." Sherlock said dismissively, turning back to the cloth on the table. He gritted his teeth and turned back to her with a painful looking smile. "Come look at this and see what you make of it." He said, pointing to the cloth.

"Me?" Madeline asked, pressing her finger to her collarbone as if to single herself out.

"Of course you." Sherlock snapped before trying to smile again. "We found this rammed into the back of her throat. Her face was bloated and contorted into a-"He reined himself in at the green tinge creeping into Madeline's face and cleared his throat awkwardly. Being normal was more difficult than it looked. "She was killed like the one on Halloween, but at least we have a clue this time." Madeline studied the cloth, a little wary to touch it. The strokes of the writing looked harried but elegant, like they were purposefully messy.

"So they're trying to make it hard to decipher." She murmured. "But wouldn't the blood and… bile make it hard enough?" Her fingers felt their way to her wrist and rubbed it agitatedly. Sherlock's eyes followed their movements.

_**Not an uncomfortable tell?**_

_**Thinking hard.**_

_**Answer is obvious.**_

He groaned loudly and spun in a quick circle to slow the thoughts racing through his head. Madeline pulled back from the cloth and watched him curiously.

"Um, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The detective groused. "Just trying to be normal." Madeline laughed, a loud laugh that bounced off the walls and plunged the lab into silence after it ended.

"I have no idea why you'd be trying to do that." Madeline said between giggles. "God knows what John and I would do if you acted like a normal person. Where'd the excitement be?" She poked his shoulder once lightheartedly but recoiled at the glare he gave her, all of her levity gone. Madeline cleared her throat and turned back to the cloth.

"So, um what about this here?" She asked more quietly, gesturing softly to the cloth stretched out on the table. "I looks like-"

"Harried brushstrokes with a paintbrush and old coal ink." Sherlock interrupted brashly. "I've gathered all of that already." John's chiding flashed through his head again and he growled quietly. "But what do _you_ see, Miss Carver?" He said rather forcefully, although trying to be polite. Madeline shifted away from him slightly and pointed at the canvas.

"It looks like some foreign language."

"Croatian. Yes."

"Oh, okay. Um, can you read what it says?"

"No, that's why I asked you."

"Well _I_ can't read Croatian!"

"Then that's your problem." Sherlock snapped. "I speak it fluently, but I can't make out the caricatures. It's closely related to Russian." Madeline scowled at him and returned her attention to the cloth.

"Maybe a warning? To you or Lestrade? Seems like something a serial killer would write; or one of those 'catch me if you can' notes." She said quietly. Sherlock snorted.

"Ah yes, just like any Americanized killer. Bold and careless." He said. Madeline narrowed her eyes at him.

"Okay look: I have no idea what your deal is but you need to get over it. You need to decide if you're going to be nice to people or if you're gonna just always be an asshole to them." She snapped. "Sometimes I don't even know how or why John and I put up with you." Madeline gathered her things and swung her bag over her shoulder angrily before storming form the lab. The door swung shut behind her with a soft hiss, leaving Sherlock behind in the lab.

"That's what I get for being 'nice' and 'normal'." He growled before reexamining the cloth again.

**A.N.- DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the afore mentioned or used characters in this story except for my own original character, Madeline Carver and other minor characters. Any relations between these characters and other people, living or dead is completely coincidental and not of the author's intent.**

**Phew, that should last me for the rest of the story.**

**Thanks for your continuous support! (And hey- Madeline met Mycroft!)**


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N.- So I had a really hard time getting this chapter out. Like impossibly tough. I had bad writer's block and UGH it wouldn't go away because I can't lump all the action together so quickly or I'll run out of tolerance spaces for lulls in the plot! (And characters can only take so much stress!)**

**So… I read "My Immortal". **

**What. The. Hell. That is sure some- uh, creative writing there. **

**AmalieNico: Yep, he's officially here! Yay and thank you for your support! (Jim isn't James… just clarifying. ^_^)**

**JaybiePepper: Thanks, it's frustrating when the OC is completely self-sufficient and rivals the original main character of the series in the first place. It's not her job to be the main character, so she's a well-rounded(-ish) supporting one.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and follows!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 12

The next few weeks passed quickly, and soon it was December. Sherlock began spending more time in his lab at Bart's working on the cases of the three murdered women, and Madeline rarely saw him at home. She did spend time with John, but he was often working at the clinic or with his current girlfriend on an outing; so Madeline was forced to spend more time by herself. She found that her depression swings became more frequent in her neighbors' absences, and without her medicine she had a much more difficult time pushing back her depression. Sometimes it didn't work and she would wake up in the morning with scabbed lines tracing her arms or legs.

Madeline hadn't really had a chance to apologize to Sherlock for her outburst in the lab; she'd only seen him a handful of times running in and out of his flat to get back to his apartment. She was hoping for a small apology from _him_ as well, but realistically that'd never happen.

It was raining. Madeline wasn't even amused with the weather outside. She had expected London to live up to its reputation of being foggy and rainy all the time but the city had held its own with sunshine very well. But on that particular day the sky was overcast and gray, and the numbness was back in full. Madeline started for her box but pulled back hesitantly and left her flat. She'd seen Sherlock leave a couple of hours earlier; meaning that the thudding footsteps from above could only be John's as he went about his business. Madeline crept up the steps slowly and pushed the door to 221 B open.

"Oh hey, Madeline." John said as he breezed by, carrying a stickful of binders and papers in his arms. He shifted them in his arms and one of the binders in the middle slipped out and dropped to the floor, causing the folders above it to cascade down as well. John growled at the ceiling in frustration and shook the two remaining binders he had clutched in his hands. Madeline stifled a laugh as she picked a couple of the binders up and stacked them in a box already piled full of patient records and papers.

"What's all this for?" She asked. John smiled sheepishly at her and closed up the box before moving on to another one.

"I'm uh moving in with Elizabeth." He admitted finally. Madeline forced herself to twist her lips into a smile, despite the fact that her lungs were slowly being dipped into icy black water.

"Your girlfriend? That's great!" She cheered. John beamed at her.

"Yeah, hopefully this move in'll work better than the um- last girlfriend I moved in with." He said with a shard of hope in his voice. Madeline smiled at him and tried to phrase her words correctly around the thoughts rolling through her mind like a storm front.

"Hey John- um, could you write me another Paxin and Trofalin prescription?" She murmured quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear her. John's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I was wondering when you'd ask that. I'm surprised you haven't asked sooner." He responded, standing up and brushing his trouser legs off. Madeline pivoted to follow him as he plucked his prescription pad from his doctor's bag and began to scribble on it illegibly.

"Wait, what?" She said fidgeting with her hands and shifting her weight from side to side until John finished and flipped the pad shut.

"I'll pick it up for you when I go to the clinic tomorrow. I can put a rush on it so you don't have to miss a dose." He said kindly. Madeline bit at the inside of her cheek harshly and waved her hands in front of her quickly.

"Actually I have another bottle; I should be set until Christmas. Thanks John, but actually no." She said hurriedly. John laughed and put the pad in his pocket.

"No problem, then you don't have to worry about it for a while. I'll bring the bottle by your flat and drop it off later." He winked at her and resumed packing. Madeline gave him a weak smile and trudged back to her room.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Oh shit." She muttered, "That was wrong. Bad choice." She debated going back to 221 B but couldn't bring herself to go back. John would ask questions. Madeline groaned and put her head in her hands, determined to push her mind back into its confines.

. . .

Nothing happened. Madeline was paranoid and on edge for the following week. She warned John to be back at Baker Street by a specific time and even tugged on Sherlock's scarf when he passed her in the hall and muttered an apology mingled with "stay inside"; which just earned her a confused glance from the detective and him brushing her off. John brought Madeline her new prescription only a couple of days after he had written it. She took it gingerly and shoved it into her pocket. Her stress began to relieve itself as the days wore on, and having her medicine back helped her nerves stabilize themselves. She kept expecting Moriarty to be casually reclining on her couch when she returned from work, and the prospect of the thought terrified her. Jim seemed to have it out for Sherlock, so Madeline was edgy whenever she, Sherlock or John left 221 Baker Street.

One night when she was closing up her lab meticulously her phone pinged in her pocket. Madeline pulled it out and stared at the text that apathetically looked back at her.

_**Buckingham Palace. Come at once. –SH **_Madeline swallowed her laugh and typed her answer back.

_**Haha, very funny. You're kidding right? **_She finished locking up her lab and had already hailed a taxi when her phone pinged again. She pulled it out arduously.

_**Do I kid Miss Carver? Buckingham Palace. –SH **_Madeline frowned and leaned forward towards the cab driver.

"Sorry, change of plans. Can you take me to Buckingham Palace?" She said. The cabbie nodded, detoured down another street, and continued through a network of side roads until he stopped the cab in front of the white building that stood regally in front of a bald garden that would be beautiful in the springtime. Madeline paid the cabbie and cautiously circled the building to find the public entrance. Sherlock didn't respond to any of the texts she had sent him asking where to go, and it took her asking one of the men in black suits standing by an obscure doorway.

"Come with us." One of them said monotonously while his partner opened the door and ushered her inside. They led her down corridors lined with woven burgundy carpets that had old Renaissance paintings residing on the walls silently. The men opened a door and all but shoved Madeline through, muttering at her to "continue up ahead". She scowled and shuffled farther up the hallway, trying not to gawk at the gold adorning the walls. Madeline stumbled through one last door and came upon Sherlock Holmes reclining casually on a couch and wrapped in a beige sheet. John sat a couple feet away from him on the other end of the couch awkwardly; and it took Madeline a second to look around and realize Mycroft Holmes was glaring at her from across the room with another serious-looking man by his side.

"Take a seat, Miss Carver." Mycroft sniffed. Madeline bounced an awkward curtsy and hurried to sit between John and Sherlock.

"You didn't seriously just curtsy to Mycroft Holmes." John muttered to her.

"Oh God, don't boost his ego Madeline." Sherlock groaned. Mycroft cut his eyes to his brother scathingly.

"As I was saying," He said patronizingly, "My- employer has become concerned with the serial killings of the dismembered women. And it's becoming increasingly difficult to hide the murders from the public. Especially after your Halloween- escapade." The older Holmes couldn't conceal the distasteful look on his face, and it almost made Madeline want to giggle. Her eyes began to roam the room and traced over the tapestries on the walls. She felt herself tense up and shift towards John slightly when she remembered that Sherlock was wrapped in a sheet.

"Are you wearing any, um pants?" Madeline asked nervously.

"No," Sherlock responded apathetically.

"Oh, okay." She said, hiding her face with a thin curtain of hair and trying to find something interesting on the other side of the room.

"Why, does it make you uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious. Madeline gave a high pitched laugh and leaned back.

"What, no… you're not doing an experiment are you?" She added timidly. He quirked an eyebrow at her quizzically and Madeline looked across the room again.

"The amount of clothing I have on doesn't constitute as an experiment." He said dully. Madeline nodded wordlessly and kept her eyes trained on the door, trying to listen to whatever nonsense Mycroft was droning. John cleared his throat.

"So- Buckingham Palace. And you with no pants?" He stated, Sherlock let a tiny smile bend the corner of his mouth patronizingly.

"That's what it seems to be." Mycroft cleared his throat pointedly and glared at them. Sherlock scowled and unwillingly returned his attention to his brother.

"So my- employer wants you to find Irene Addler. You know her well, right Brother _Dear_?" Mycroft said patronizingly. Sherlock glared at him for a second before sniffing and directing his attention to the ceiling.

"On a business level." He said distractedly. Mycroft snorted and John and Madeline shifted uncomfortably. The man by Mycroft's elbow stepped forward with a bundle of clothes draped over his arm.

"Since you're here it'd please our employer if you'd put on some clothes." The man said bitterly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Please come _off_ it already. I think we all know who your 'employer' is. Even the American knows it." He jerked his head at Madeline, and she raised her hand tentatively.

"Who are we talking about? They work for Parliament, right?" She said. Mycroft and his hand man grimaced at her while John exploded into gales of laughter and Sherlock shook his head.

"Just finish up, Mycroft we don't have all day." He snapped. The older Holmes snatched the clothes from the man beside him and tossed them into Sherlock's lap.

"Get dressed and we'll finish the conversation." He growled. Sherlock stared at him coolly.

"Yes, please get dressed." John muttered. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from the couch, scrambling for a second to catch the loose clothes and to keep the sheet wrapped around himself. Madeline stared at her fingernails and John eyed an ashtray devoutly. He left the room and returned with a scowl plastered to his face and the sheet folded neatly over his arm. He flung it at Mycroft, who swatted it aside agitatedly with his umbrella.

"Be mature, would you?" Mycroft snapped. Sherlock glared at him until they resumed the conversation when John cleared his throat loudly.

"You need to wrap these killings up." The older brother said. "You can't let another of these cases turn up. Our guess is that Miss Addler knows about them- she was there at the site of the first killing on Halloween. And judging by her… profession I think she'd be worthy of questioning. She seems like the kind of person who would know things." He cleared his throat awkwardly and Madeline shifted.

"So her profession is…?" John asked. Sherlock cut across his brother's answer with a frown.

"Seriously, John you saw the woman. How do women like her hold their own in the modern world? Think about it." He groused before standing and striding to the door. "We'll be in touch, Mycroft." The detective said before opening the door and leaving.

"And that's our cue to go. Gentlemen," John said, nodding at Mycroft and the other man. He rose and followed Sherlock and Madeline stepped after him. She turned and bobbed another awkward curtsy before hurrying after her neighbors. Mycroft and the man exchanged an exasperated glance before parting ways; with the older brother swinging his umbrella around his wrist to calm himself.

His brother could be so annoying, sometimes.

. . .

"So we have to find Irene Addler." Madeline said as she, John, and Sherlock sat inside the cab awkwardly.

"Of course not. I have the means to contact her right here." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and waving it dismissively. It moaned on cue, making John and Madeline jump. Sherlock's brow furrowed as he read the message aloud.

"_Playing tourist at Buckingham, Mr. Holmes? How about dinner? You must have a few questions."_ He read. "Well, that should be an interesting interrogation."

"Over pasta?" Madeline said, feeling her mood lift now that she was out of Mycroft's intimidating presence. She and John sniggered until a scathing look from Sherlock made them lapse into silence.

"John, I'll need you to rendezvous with Miss Addler and extract information from her right away. Set up a- meeting with her and ask her any questions you deem noteworthy." The detective said. His flatmate grinned at him.

"Nope, I'm going to spend the third night in my new apartment with Elizabeth. We're watching movies and she's going to have dinner ready by the time I get home." He said warmly. Madeline gave him a covert thumbs-up sign and Sherlock scowled.

"She's not going to cook. Best chances are she'll order food delivered to your new _residence_ and pass it off as her own. You saw her 'cooking' at Thanksgiving- hardly what I call home made. You should check your waste bins for takeout boxes later." He added. Madeline kicked at him and earned herself a glare from the detective as John fell silent and decided to stare out the window.

"At least it'll be good takeout." Madeline said helpfully, John shook his head exasperatedly and told the cabbie to pull over.

"The apartment's right around the corner. I'll see you two later." He said, shutting the door a little forcefully. The cab started up again, leaving Madeline and Sherlock sitting in the back in a tight space occupied with thick silence.

"So…" Madeline said, fidgeting with her hands. Sherlock ignored her and stared out of the windshield ahead. "_So._" She said louder. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned towards her.

"If you're going to start a conversation have something clever to follow up with. Don't repeat yourself; your voice has a bad habit of carrying." He groused before adding. "And mind telling me how long you've been off of your prescription?"

Madeline didn't speak to him the rest of the way home.

**A.N.- I hate myself for this chapter- I really do. But I had to get the pants thing in there… I just HAD to. Sorry, but it was another filler! (There's plenty of action coming up- no worries you guys!) Please review and tell me if you like how the plot's going! Thanks!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N.- Whoo! We're doing great! I've got so many awesome reviews and so much support from you guys!**

**Charlotte13245: Thanks, it makes me all fuzzy inside that you said that. ^_^ I've been having some trouble keeping writing, so reviews and support helps.**

**AmalieNico: You're so nice! Thanks for all your reviews and support so far- and please don't hate me after this chapter. ^_^**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 13

Sherlock seemed reluctant to meet with Irene. He seemed keener to send John out to do the deed than to go himself. Madeline was grateful that the detective hadn't come to her and pressganged her into interrogating Irene. The woman exuded a power and confidence that made Madeline want to shrink into a ball. She remembered how Irene had carried herself like a queen who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

Madeline was still cautious of Moriarty coming back, so she took her medicines discreetly with all of her curtains and shades closed every day. It felt good to feel the darkness in her chest recede; but it was replaced by a gnawing worry that the postman could be the world's only consulting criminal in disguise.

Sherlock began to spend more time sulking around after John moved out, even though he seemed sure the doctor would be back from the end of the month. He kept muttering about John's girlfriend and speculating when he would be returning whenever Madeline would peek into his flat or lab to make sure he was working. An unknown caller had been spamming her phone constantly, and from what Madeline had gathered the number belonged to Mycroft. The calls said short messages like:

"_Danger night, keep him inside."_

"_Make sure he's wrapping up the case."_

"_Sorry to trouble you but you're his new keeper."_ The messages didn't sound sorry at all, in fact it sounded like Mycroft had switched from using John to handle his brother and was employing Madeline in his stead. For some reason whenever she tried to call the older brother back her phone would beep arrogantly at her and say the number had never existed in the first place. She had a faint sense of what Mycroft was asking whenever he called and said it was a "danger night"; but whenever she'd go to find Sherlock the tall man was already gone. She'd whine in frustration and trudge back to her books until he decided to come back.

Madeline wasn't sure whether or not Sherlock had in fact interrogated Irene Addler. He was gone too often for her to really know where he was at all times like his brother wished. But when the detective's mood lifted considerably and the violin music he played almost every night grew livelier Madeline could tell he was onto something.

She bounced into 221 B one afternoon just as Sherlock was looping his scarf over the coatrack and shrugging off his coat. The days were getting colder and colder, and Madeline loved watching the frost on her windows in the mornings when she woke up. Sherlock cut his eyes to her and crossed his arms.

"What do you want?" He asked, not sounding angry but bored. Madeline fiddled with the cuff of her sweater, twisting it slightly around her thumb and pressing the edge of the fabric into her palm.

"I was just wondering if you'd gotten any good leads on the cases about the women. Your music sounds happier so- I was wondering if you needed any samples run while I'm at work today." She said, giving him a cordial smile. Sherlock's lip twitched before he frowned at her dismissively.

"So my brother has been in contact with you. Terribly sorry, hope you can regain those brain cells." He said shortly before taking long strides to the kitchen and rummaging in the refrigerator. Madeline followed him and tried to peek over his shoulder at whatever experiment he was fermenting in the fridge; but the detective spun around and kicked the door shut with his heel, turning and bumping into Madeline. She stumbled back from him as he scowled and stepped around her.

"It's not done yet." He muttered, collapsing in his chair and cradling his violin in his arms. His fingers curled and unwrapped themselves from around the instrument's slender neck. The strings made quiet notes as he began to pluck at them absentmindedly. Madeline stood awkwardly where John's chair used to be. Sherlock stared into space vehemently until she cleared her throat.

"Hey so- any leads yet?" She said. Sherlock's expression didn't change but Madeline noticed his tugging at the strings became more insistent before dropping back to a normal pace.

"I've got it." He said shortly. "You don't need to keep watch over me." Madeline blew a strand of hair out of her face and huffed.

"It's not like I want to. Your brother commissioned me as your new babysitter since John moved out. I already have a job, how do you think this is working for me?" She sighed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and scowled.

"I think Miss Addler is a suspect. They're all murdered in the same fashion and Mycroft said the bodies were left in the same places as Jack the Ripper. I think she had a hand in it." He said.

"You think?" Madeline said playfully. "I thought you knew everything." The detective cut her a look and steepled his fingers in front of his nose with his violin laying across his lap.

"I do; this is merely a second speculation." He snipped. Madeline nodded, trying to keep her expression serious. The thought of the bodies bothered her, so she occupied her mind with the case itself rather than its victims. Sherlock noticed the thick silence and cut it with a question.

"So, why did you stop taking your medications?" He asked casually, reclining in his chair and lifting his violin to his chin. Madeline shifted her weight uncomfortably, and Sherlock resisted the urge to smile as he began to play. People were so much easier to read when they were uncomfortable. It was reassuring to have the upper hand in a situation. Sherlock drew his bow across the "E" string at its highest pitch and looked at Madeline.

"Well?" He said before resuming to play. She shifted and circled her fingers around her wrists self-consciously. She mumbled something quietly at him and the detective rolled his eyes and put his instrument down.

"Amazing how your voice can carry when you want it to. Speak up." He snapped. Madeline gripped her wrist tightly and took a deep breath.

"Moor-ia-tee." She muttered again. Sherlock stopped mid-note, breaking his song off with a screech. He gave Madeline a glare that made her want to crawl into a hole. She might not have said it clearly, but he understood.

"Moriarty. Jim. I should have thought so. Stupid of me. Stupid." He growled, dropping his violin to the floor only a little softly. Madeline took a step back as Sherlock leapt up from his chair and began to pace furiously on the carpet.

"He, um came into my lab and stole my meds. He said if I told you or John-"

"Oh shut up, that doesn't matter!" Sherlock snapped. "Moriarty has a new plan. Maybe he committed the murders- no, wait- _Addler_. They might be in league." He kept pacing agitatedly, and Madeline gave him a small smile, trying not to let it waver.

"Um, Sherlock if I-"Sherlock stopped short on the rug and fisted his hands in his hair.

"No, you can't. Go away, I've got to go to my mind palace. Call John and let him know I have a lead." He snapped. Madeline wanted to get furious with him, but could only get mildly agitated. She nodded and retreated back to her flat. Her mind was gnawing at her to take her medicine but she decided it could wait and reached for her phone and dialed John's number.

. . .

"Hey, so what's going on?" John said breathlessly, leaning against Madeline's doorframe. She looked up from her book and sprinted to the door, sliding in her socks.

"Sherlock has a lead on the cases with the women!" She said, riding full out on a mania high and sliding into the doctor's chest from her momentum. John gave her a watery smile and held her at arm's length.

"So what happened? What's his lead?" John said, having to repeat himself a couple of times to get Madeline's attention. She stepped back from him and bounced on the balls of her feet.

"He has a suspect. Go see! Go see!" She giggled. John smiled at her and slowly trudged upstairs. He returned minutes later with an irritated look on his face.

"He's stuck in his mind palace. I left him a note on the coffee table." He sighed. Madeline closed her book around her finger to keep her place and frowned.

"He's still there? Good Lord." She laughed. John gave her a polite smile.

"Yeah. Has he been eating lately? It doesn't look like there's a lot of food there." He said. Madeline's eye reached to the ceiling as she tried to remember.

"I dunno." She said thoughtfully. "He's been in and out a lot lately so I don't know." John sighed and rubbed at his temples.

"That's fine, I'll be back later okay? Don't let Sherlock leave." He said before reminding Madeline of her medication and leaving with his bag over his shoulder. Madeline was already reimbursed in her book, waiting out her mania swing.

. . .

Time seemed to slip away, and when she finally glanced at the clock Madeline noticed that the entire afternoon had skipped by. In reality she'd stopped reading hours ago and had begun to listen to the negative thoughts pulsing through her mind in hordes in the wake of her previous swing.

_**Useless.**_

_**Fat.**_

_**Idiot.**_

_**Unwanted.**_

_**Ugly.**_

_**Go die.**_

_**Make it go away.**_

_**End it.**_

She had made up her mind to get her little box and its contents, but she was interrupted by Sherlock bursting into her flat. K.C. sprang from his owner's lap and streaked into the bedroom, but Sherlock ignored it.

"John, where's John?" He demanded. Madeline unfolded her legs from her chair and stood uncertainly.

"What do you mean? He said he was coming back later today; you were in your mind palace." She answered him. Sherlock frowned and began pacing.

"He didn't have work today."

"Maybe he was called in-"

"Stupid, he would have said so."

"You were busy-"

"Not _that_ busy. He's not answering his mobile, either. I'll have to find him." Sherlock snapped. Madeline was shocked to see him twirling a cigarette between his fingers agitatedly.

"Just wait a little bit." She said hopefully, "He might have gone out to get something or to dinner." Sherlock kept fiddling with the cigarette furiously as he paced on her carpet.

"He would be answering, he's a doctor." The detective stopped and took deep strides to Madeline's armchair. He put his hands on both of the armrests and gave her a serious glare.

"When you saw John before. What was he wearing? Did he have any bags?" He asked harshly.

"I- I don't know." Madeline said shakily. "I didn't pay attention, I was thinking about other- other things." Sherlock growled and pushed away from her.

"Of course you didn't. All you do is sit in your misery." He snapped, crinkling a cigarette in his fingers that she hadn't noticed before. Madeline felt the hole inside her chest expand with every word Sherlock bit out. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard it began to bleed, and she began to feel the need to bleed her frustration out, too.

"Please go look for him, then." Madeline said quietly. "I'll keep calling his phone from here and see if he answers." Sherlock gave her a disdainful look and stormed from her apartment. As soon as she heard the door slam she reached for her box. Moriarty was behind it. He most certainly was.

_ I hate him_. Madeline thought bitterly. _Correction: I hate me._

. . .

Her arms were just beginning to scab over and the sun was already gone. Madeline sat with the inside of her arms facing up on her lap, staring blankly at the red stripes branded across her skin. Sherlock hadn't returned yet, and neither had John. Madeline had called John's phone a total of four times as she had promised; but she knew the truth.

"It's my fault." She whispered into her hair. K.C. gave her a sympathetic look from the couch before curling back up with a soft mewl. "I shouldn't have told him." Madeline said. "It's my fault."

"Going for a guilt trip, are we?" Someone said. Madeline spun around in horror to face a self-satisfied Jim Moriarty leaning against her door. K.C. hissed and arched his back against the couch, and Jim gave him a disdainful look before returning his attention to Madeline.

"So you couldn't keep your secret to yourself, Damsel? I'm so disappointed." Jim pouted. Madeline reached for her nearest weapon and spun back around brandishing the razor from a box cutter in her hand. Moriarty eyed the sliver of metal and let loose a jubilant laugh.

"Wow, darling I'd love to see you fight your way through somebody with that." He smirked, "Oh and look- you've gotten yourself some new cracks." He stepped forward nimbly and snatched Madeline's wrist in his hand. She hissed in pain and tried to pull back but the criminal held her fast and gripped her wrist tightly until she involuntarily unfolded her hand. Moriarty smirked and plucked the box cutter blade from her palm. He twisted her arm and spun her around until Jim had Madeline immobilized and the box cutter held to her throat.

"Alrightie." He said softly in a deadly calm voice, "You're going to come with me, darling. And please do so quietly; big scenes are so hard to clean up." Madeline tried to take a step forward away from him, but the thin edge of the razor biting into her neck stopped her.

"What's wrong?" Moriarty said almost sadistically, "You're always so keen to bleed. What's stopping you now?" Madeline couldn't speak, she was cold with fear and blazing with anger at the same time. Jim slowly drew the box cutter across her neck lightly, eliciting shivers from Madeline. He stopped the blade on her jugular and applied a little bit of pressure. She gasped and squirmed as Moriarty laughed.

. . .

Sherlock was furious. John wasn't answering his mobile, and his annoying girlfriend had no idea where he was either. He stomped up the stairs but stopped halfway.

Something was wrong.

He slowly stepped back down the stairs and made his way to Mrs. Hudson's flat in 221 A. He could hear the old woman snoring from behind the door. The detective walked farther down the hall until he reached 221 C. Upon closer inspection he saw that the door was cracked open. After a moment of hesitation Sherlock kicked the door open and stormed in.

"Madeline!" He shouted, spinning around the living room. The detective stopped short and stared at the bloody mess on Madeline's couch. Tufts of animal hair were scattered amongst a pool of blood currently staining Madeline's couch deep crimson. Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation.

"The damn cat." He muttered. He knew exactly what was going on. And exactly who was responsible.

And he wasn't happy.

**A.N.- I didn't want to kill the kitty! (But I did) So…. This happened. **

**I got this book called "Cut" but it's pretty good. And I also got a new book called "The Winter People" and the last Heroes of Olympus Book "Blood of Olympus". And I've got another horse show this weekend, yay!**

**Reviews make me post faster!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A.N.- And we're back with the newest installment! I got so many reviews for the last chapter, it was amazing!  
shadajoserj- Sherlock will open up soon. I'm warring against my romantic side to stave off the shipping; but it will happen sooner or later.**

**AmalieNico- It is IC for Jim, and I felt really bad for K.C. but it **_**had**_** to be **_**done**_**. And it's a huge tip off to Sherlock and company that **_**something **_**happened.**

**Guest: Yessir/ma'am I'm working on it as we speak. Stay updated, I should have a new chapter up in a couple of days.**

**JayBiePepper: Thanks, I try to make my characters say thing people would really say. Good to know it's paying off!**

** -yeah: Thanks! Everyone's support is so sweet! Hope you like what's coming up. (*maniacal laughter*)**

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 14

Madeline didn't know where she was. Everything was black and her head was pounding. There was a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. Madeline rolled over on a hard surface and whimpered. After a second the shaking started again, this time accompanied by a voice.

"Get up. Madeline, get up." The voice grew a little panicked and the shaking intensified. "Wake up. Hey, please get up. Oh God…" She felt someone fumbling for her wrist and trying to take her pulse, so Madeline rallied her strength and opened her eyes. The darkness she'd seen was forced away from her vision and brought John's Watson's face into focus. He sighed in relief and sat back on his heels to help Madeline sit up.

The doctor was in bad shape. He had a black eye and a lump on his temple as if he'd been struck with something heavy. Madeline's vision wobbled dangerously as she pushed herself into a sitting position and took a deep breath. Her throat suddenly tickled and constricted and she leaned forward, choking. She pressed her forehead to the cold floor as she gasped and tried to rid herself of the feeling that someone was gripping her throat. After a few minutes of coughing Madeline's throat was raw, but the tickling urge to cough had subsided. John glanced at her sympathetically and crossed his legs.

"Your neck is bruised." He said softly. "My guess is they choked you unconscious to get you here. I uh, got knocked out instead." Madeline cupped her neck in her hands and pulled her knees to her chest.

"Where are we?" She whispered. John shook his head and raked his hand through his hair.

"No idea. I guess it's underground, and from what I can feel we're in a cell of some kind. There's an intercom _somewhere_ in here. Someone's been saying stuff over it but it's too garbled to make it out." He said. Madeline wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.

"Sorry," She muttered, "It's my fault we're here." She ignored John's perplexed look in the dim light and continued to murmur into her skin. "Moriarty stole my medicines and said if I told you or Sherlock he'd come back and get us." John looked horrified at her words, but soon the reaction was replaced with a roiling anger that blew onto his face like a storm cloud.

"Moriarty? The stupid git- and what did Sherlock say? Did you tell him?" He asked. Madeline shook her head wordlessly and John growled.

"Why not?"

"He did- say something. But it wasn't one of his finer moments." Madeline said quietly. John groaned exasperatedly and rubbed at his temples.

"Damn ass…" He muttered. "Good thing is, Sherlock won't stop looking for us until he finds us. He can have a heart when he wants to." Madeline didn't respond, she just stared vacantly at the pale ground in front of her. John sighed and slid closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. She wordlessly leaned against him, feeling sobs and emptiness bubble inside her like black tar. They pushed their way up her throat and escaped her mouth in tiny, hiccupping sobs that Madeline muffled in John's shoulder. He let her cry absentmindedly and stared into the darkness, hoping his flatmate would find them soon.

_Please._

. . .

Moriarty grinned and interlaced his fingers, stretching his arms behind him theatrically. The monitors in front of him flashed multiple screens at once, showcasing many different rooms from many different angles. On one screen Sherlock's damsel and blogger huddled together silently, and in the other screens random people lay motionlessly on the cold stone floors. Jim's lip twitched in disgust; it would cost too much to feed them, and he just didn't have time to play with his _other _toys at the moment. But they'd all get playtime soon enough. He took out his phone and twirled it between his hands thoughtfully; it sure was taking them a while to reply.

"Better hurry, Sherlock." He mused thoughtfully. "The game is on; and I'm sure you don't want to miss it."

. . .

"Lestrade!" Sherlock snarled, banging into the inspector's office. Lestrade started from where he'd been sleeping at his desk, scattering papers everywhere.

"John and Madeline- they're gone!" The detective growled. Lestrade stared at him blankly until Sherlock slammed his hand on the desk. "And Jim Moriarty did it." He said vehemently before turning and striding from the room with his coat flaring behind him. Lestrade wasted no time in springing from his desk and grabbing his radio as he followed the detective out of Scotland Yard.

"Backup, I need backup right now! I need Scotland Yard back up right away!" He pocketed his radio and swept out of the building. Donovan and Anderson jumped to their feet followed their superior into the street where Sherlock was spinning in circles and knotting his fingers in his hair.

"Gone with no trace. No notes. Murdered her cat. Ugh, there's nothing to go on!" He growled at the buildings. Donovan sprinted back into Scotland Yard and came back out a moment later with a crumpled paper in her hands.

"Sir, we just got this. It's a fax from an unknown number." She panted. Lestrade took the paper gingerly, but Sherlock snatched it from him without a second thought. Anderson peered over his shoulder as Lestrade crowded beside him to read the paper. It was a picture. Someone had spray-painted three letters onto pavement with bold yellow paint.

**I.O.U.**

Sherlock scowled at the paper but did nothing. Lestrade furrowed his brow and squinted.

"I.O.U.? That's from Moriarty right? What does he mean by that?" He muttered. Sherlock frowned at the picture and stormed back inside Scotland Yard with Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan right on his heels.

"I know exactly what it means." He said calmly. "Donovan, give me a close up of the bottom right corner. Be quick about it." The detective snapped. Donovan took it and returned with another printout. It was written in the same yellow paint as the previous message, but the text was smaller than the last and painted in a neater fashion.

It read the fraction four-fourths.

Sherlock growled quietly at the paper and crumpled it in his fist before slamming it into the nearest rubbish bin and leaving Scotland Yard again. Lestrade followed after him.

"So what do we do?" He asked. Sherlock spun around shortly and glared at the inspector.

"Have your men look through satellites for somewhere matching that photograph."

"But we don't have clearance to-"

"Then what are you good for?" Sherlock said bitingly before disappearing into London. Lestrade sighed and ordered his men to split up and cover every inch of the city.

"They can't be far." He muttered.

. . .

Sherlock paced in his flat, drumming his fingers on his leg and muttering to himself.

_**Four-fourths,**_

_**Big area,**_

_**Lots of asphalt,**_

_**I.O.U.**_

_**Jack the Ripper,**_

_**Yellow paint,**_

_**Yellow stripe-**_

_**Yellow Stripe.**_

_**Parking Spot.**_

_**Parking **_**Lot.**

_**Fourth victim out of four.**_

_**Carver.**_

Sherlock pulled out his phone and typed Lestrade a message quickly.

**ALL PARKING LOTS. Now.-SH**

He pocketed the device and resumed pacing, trying to pinpoint the location. Why would he be keeping them in a parking deck? It'd be much too easy to escape, and too public. People would see the paint and report it or investigate or _something_. So it'd have to be abandoned… Sherlock whipped out his phone and sent Lestrade another short message.

_**Check for abandoned parking garages.-SH **_Lestrade pinged his response back seconds later and Sherlock ignored him in favor of pacing and thinking.

_**Four out of four,**_

_**Four fourths.**_

_**One more killing.**_

_**One more-**_

_**Moriarty.**_

He wasn't scared. Sherlock Holmes didn't get scared. He was mildly concerned for his ex-flatmate and his neighbor. Moriarty was someone to be reckoned with. He was insane to the point that Mycroft couldn't even control his actions. Sherlock collapsed gracefully in his chair and entered his mind palace.

His phone moaned sultrily, and the detective pulled out of his mind palace reluctantly and glared at his phone. His phone read: 7:30 pm, apparently he'd been in his mind palace for hours. Sherlock frowned and looked at his message, it was from an unknown number and read:

_**She's the fourth one. Better hurry.-JM **_

Sherlock scowled at the screen as he texted the criminal back.

_**Leave me alone, I'm working on a case.-SH**_

He responded shortly. His phone pinged a second later and the detective dug it out of his pocket again quickly.

_**Are you trying to fool yourself or me? Have fun with hide and seek. Better hurry, audience spots are running out.-JM**_

Sherlock glared at it and stowed the device in his pocket again; but dug it out a second later and stared at the messages.

_**Audience.**_

_**There are more.**_

Sherlock groaned and rubbed at his temples. There were more people where Jim was keeping Madeline and John, and knowing Moriarty the man would have some kind of scenario set up to make the entire scene more trouble than it was worth. Sherlock sighed and leaned back into the chair. He pulled out his violin but couldn't figure out what to play. His fingers were itching to play, but his mind was stampeding almost too fast for him. The detective leaned forward and reentered his mind palace, trying to piece his mind together and steady his nerves. He wasn't scared, he was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes didn't get _scared_.

**A.N.- So yes, sucky and short: just like the rest. (Ha. Ha. Ha. Oooh funny) I know it's not moving very quickly, but I'd be a bad author if I moved the search along and made it take only one chapter.**

**Honey please, Spock had his own movie while they were searching for him. XD**

**But the next chapter will be more eventful, I promise. Thanks for all your support, we've got over 4,750 views and 33 reviews! This the best any of my stories have fared!**

**Thanks to you guys!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N.- You guys and your reviews ^/^ They're so kind and helpful! (I'm a little nervous I haven't gotten any flames yet, though. They won't show up for the whole story and then suddenly Roy Mustang starts a fire on the last chapter. (FMA reference. XD)**

**GITANJALEE123- Thanks! It's killing me **_**so **_**much to keep them apart: I really want to throw them together already but that's not how it works… Patience is a virtue! (And it tests my writing skills and self control- like "how much can I make them collide before they warm up to each other?")**

**JaybiePepper- Can you read FanFics on a kindle? I know I read them on my phone, that's awesome! Thank you for your support!**

**maddQueen- Thanks, I'm glad you think it's good. (I'd like to think it's perfect but I actually spent an entire afternoon going back through everything so far and making tiny edits.) **

**We've jumped up like 2,000 views in the last couple of days and I have to tell you guys- I would **_**not**_** be able to write this story if you guys weren't being so awesome and reading and reviewing it every time. I'd grow bored with it and give up on it. (Shoots gun at wall.)**

**Enjoy!**

**T**he Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 15

Mrs. Hudson had checked on Sherlock multiple times. She'd left him dinner on the desk. She'd brought him his mail. She'd even closed the window and tossed a blanket at him when the night fell, muttering kindly about "not being his housekeeper" and the like. Sherlock ignored her and murmured incoherently into his steepled fingers until she left with a maternal glance. Sherlock waited until she was gone then sprang to his feet and checked his phone. Its screen broadcasted that he had one missed call and a waiting text message. He opened it and scowled at what it said.

_**Ready for dinner yet, Mr. Holmes? You've got to have questions.**_

Sherlock frowned and texted back.

_**If I was, you'd have explaining to do Miss Addler.-SH **_

There was no lapse in Irene's response. His phone emitted her moan exactly six seconds after he responded.

_**Great. How about Pied a Terre? See you in ten.**_

__The detective didn't bother to respond, he swept out of the flat and darted down the stairs and into the street. He had atrocious luck flagging a cab so he set out with a grimace on foot towards the restaurant.

. . .

Irene was scantily clothed- as per the usual. Her dress was highly revealing and seemed almost too thin for the cold December weather. She smiled at Sherlock with perfect white teeth and motioned for him to take a seat across from her. He didn't return her smile and sank into the chair with a scowl, waving away a waiter who stepped up to the table to take their order.

"So you work for Moriarty." He said simply. Irene played with her silverware nostalgically.

"Not for him; _with_ him. He and I just share different points of view sometimes." She corrected. Sherlock's eyebrows crept up his forehead in the most sarcastic manner he could muster.

"Enough that you would sell him out?" Irene answered him with a tinkling laugh, all the while playing with a sharp steak knife by the edge of the table.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not stupid and I'd like to keep living." She retorted. "I'm just here to have dinner with you." Her hand slid across the table towards Sherlock's but he swiftly pulled it away and placed it under the table.

"I'm not." He answered coldly. "I'm here to find out where John and Madeline are and what Moriarty is playing at. He said in his messages that there is going to be an audience. What does he mean; and don't feed me lies, Miss Addler." Irene sat back easily, twirling a shrimp fork between her fingers daintily and feigning a hurt expression.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Sherlock; I'm not the kind of person who has much use for lies." She said softly.

"Nor am I." Sherlock countered icily. "So what is Moriarty planning?" Irene sighed and delicately replaced the shrimp fork onto the table, strenuously arranging it in its correct position amongst the other silverware.

"Well, he's planning quite a spectacle: you and I both know that. But I think he wants a fail proof. Not to protect himself from Scotland Yard or your darling sibling, but to make sure you keep yourself in check." She said carefully. Sherlock furrowed his brow and she sighed exasperatedly before continuing. "You know exactly what I mean, Mr. Holmes. You've had situations with him before and have- reacted in ways he didn't like." The detective snorted and Irene narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm serious." She snapped. "He's gathered people to use as a shield." Sherlock scoffed at her and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You're truly trying my patience. I'm only going to get John and Madeline back." He growled. Irene leaned back and laughed again.

"And I thought you had no use for lies." She smirked, "You act selfish and cold but we both know that's not true." She leaned forward and brushed her fingers past Sherlock's cheek intimately. He jerked back and scowled at her while she smirked back at him. "You'll try and try to think of how to save everyone." Irene whispered. "And Moriarty will have one foot already planted ahead of you." The detective frowned at her.

"And yet you're still talking nonsense. Where is Moriarty hiding?" He snapped. Irene rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.

"Think, Mr. Holmes. If Jim wanted to keep numerous people captive all at once where would he keep them? And consider where he left his graffiti message to you. Where would he be able to do that?" She said suggestively.

"Of course, Lestrade is checking parking lots all over London. Moriarty would keep the location within the city to gloat and hide beneath my nose. Hopefully Scotland Yard will find the building where they're being held." Sherlock said emotionlessly. Irene laughed so hard that other diners looked up from their meals and glanced at her quizzically. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table angrily until she calmed her breathing and stifled her laughter.

"Of course it's not a _building_." Irene gasped between sniggers. "You should know better than that, Mr. Holmes. Moriarty wouldn't go for something so simple and common. I thought brainy was the new sexy, don't lose your appeal." She added condescendingly. Sherlock glared at her unwaveringly until something clicked in his mind and his blue eyes widened.

"That's it!" He shouted, standing from the table so suddenly his chair fell over behind him and drew even more attention from the other people dining around them. The detective slammed his palms onto the table roughly and began talking at the speed of light.

"He's much too flashy for a common building, oh no, no, no that's not his style. But the messages were left on a pavement- _obviously_ material for a parking lot. But what if it wasn't left to lead us to a parking lot it was used to lead us to a parking _deck_? The picture was taken of the messages from higher ground- obviously from the roof of a car park! He must have renovated the structure so it could hold all the captives- a prison in plain sight!" He spat. It was hard to tell whether Sherlock was furious or overjoyed at his realization; but nonetheless he turned and strode from the restaurant in long, harried strides and pulled out his phone.

"_Hey, Holmes. I think we've got a location on the parking lot you wanted."_ Lestrade said when he answered Sherlock's call.

"Ignore it, look for parking decks; old ones. Moriarty has them all held there and be quick about it." The detective snapped before hanging up and keeping his phone clutched in his hand. A few minutes later it rang, and Sherlock answered it after the first tone.

"What is it?"

_"We found it. An old private car park on Beldevere Road. It's a few meters from Waterloo station, so hurry up and get here- I'm not taking any chances by sending people in. Something tells me it's you he wants again." _Lestrade said quickly. Sherlock pulled the phone away from his ear and stepped into the street in front of a cab.

"That'd be wise of you, Inspector." He said, "Very wise."

. . .

John had no idea what time it was, or where exactly they were, still. The garbled voices over the intercom had stopped hours ago, and the room was growing steadily colder.

_So the sun's going down._ He thought, trying to reason like Sherlock would; but every rational thought the doctor placed in his mind was stamped out by uncertainty and doubt. _What if Sherlock can't find us? What if Moriarty straight up murders us?_ John kept his thoughts to himself, however; Madeline hadn't spoken for a while and sat quietly beside him. He could hear her teeth begin to chatter over the sound of his own. _Maybe he's planning on freezing us to death, _He thought. Someone shouted in a hoarse voice, but it sounded like it was far away and muffled by layers of concrete. Loud, precise footsteps echoed down the hallway until John felt himself yanked up by his collar and dragged from the room. He tried to struggle, but his limbs were too cold and he was much too tired to put up a fight. The doctor turned his head with great effort and caught sight of Madeline stumbling along beside him. Her lips were blue and her face drawn, but she looked alright from a medical standpoint. John saw large cement columns pass by them with what looked like cement partitions set up between them to make rooms.

_Or cells, _John thought, the person behind them shoved them forward towards an elevator. John and Madeline hesitantly stepped inside, followed by their captor.

"Hello, all." Moriarty said with a kindly smile. "Sorry about the temperature, there wasn't time for me to install heating." He shrugged haphazardly and pressed the button labeled "**B"**. The elevator's doors slid closed with a hideous screech and the machine jerked its way to life with much coughing and spluttering. The elevator descended while Moriarty stood pleasantly between John and Madeline with his hands crossed. When it reached the basement level they all stepped out and were overwhelmed by darkness until Moriarty fumbled for something and dim lights lit themselves to showcase the room.

It was enormous, the concrete floor stretched on for meters and was punctuated by more cement columns embedded in the ground. John noticed that there were no partitions between the columns this time; and without them the entire floor looked commonly… familiar.

"It's a car park!" He whispered. "But the exits are all sealed up." The British term didn't register with Madeline but she was looking around with wide eyes.

"John, it's a parking deck!" She said. Moriarty rolled his eyes and spun to face them.

"It's annoying when people repeat things; do stop." He said cheerfully as more of the lights on the floor warmed up and flickered on, dousing the gray floor with pale and tired lighting. One set of lights turned on and projected light onto a large group of people huddled together and shivering. They were of all ethnicities and social classes as well as age and both genders. They all crouched together like rats in the corner of a cage in a laboratory, the thought made John sick.

"Feel free to have a seat on one of those." Moriarty said jovially, pointing with his thumb at two X's painted onto the concrete about twenty feet from each other with bright yellow paint. Madeline tried to glare at him weakly and protest, but John tugged her sleeve and shook his head. Moriarty was too unpredictable. They both trudged to their places on the marks and tried to keep their teeth from chattering. Jim smiled and produced a red apple from the depths of his coat and a pocketknife to match it. He began to elegantly carve strips of the fruit's red skin from its body and let them drop to the floor. Madeline rubbed her hands over her arms to try and warm herself futilely.

"So what are you going to do?" She asked in a hushed tone, Moriarty didn't look up from his task and smiled.

"Not me; the question is what is _Sherlock_ going to do?" He said, expertly driving the pocket knife into the apple and slicing a perfect sliver of the flesh before spearing it on the blade. "I left him clues," Moriarty beamed, waving the knife about in front of his face dismissively. "It's up to him to actually solve my riddles and get here."

"And what if he doesn't?" Madeline asked in a tiny voice. Jim smiled at her then stabbed his apple through the core and took purposeful strides towards her and John.

"If he doesn't then I'm left with one-hundred-and-two people that I have no use for." He said in a velvety tone that implied spikes and needles. The criminal leaned closer to Madeline and hand up the apple between them. "And I hate excess toys." He said lowly, sliding the fruit off of the pocket knife and dropping its carcass into Madeline's lap. She caught it in her hands and stared at it blankly as Moriarty pushed himself to his feet and strode away while flipping the pocket knife between his fingers harmlessly.

John risked a glimpse at Madeline; she was still staring at the desecrated apple that promised their deaths. She kept on pulling her lip into her mouth and biting it before spitting it out and repeating the process. Her hands tightened and loosened on the apple consecutively, and John caught her stealing glances at Moriarty through her hair. He saw what she was doing and tried to stop her.

"Madeline!" In a flash his neighbor darted to her feet and hurled the apple at the back of the world's only consulting criminal. The apple hit Moriarty below his right shoulder blade. He whirled around angrily and brandished the pocket knife, but stopped and began laughing when he saw the furious look on Madeline's face.

"Wow, darling. I'd have to say you surprised me, there. Good effort, though!" He chuckled, resuming the pattern the knife was following as it twirled between his fingers.

"I hate you." Madeline bit out. "You're out to get Sherlock and you're dragging me into it! I don't want this!" Jim smiled and leaned towards her again, flashing the knife blade past her face so that it nicked the tip of her nose. John looked on nervously and debated whether or not he could intervene in time while the other people watched silently and passively.

"You're broken, and that interests me indefinitely. How is it that something so mangled and cracked still functions? I intend to find out, and it's a lovely coincidence you live below Sherlock." Moriarty cooed, "I wonder if he's considered using you for experiments of his own..."

"She is interesting in her own way." Someone answered him coldly. Jim smiled in Madeline's face triumphantly before turning and spreading his arms in a welcoming fashion.

"And I thought we were missing our guest of honor. Good to see you, Sherlock." He said as if he was greeting an old friend. Sherlock stepped into the harsh light in front of Moriarty with a stoic expression on his face.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again- your voice really travels." He said icily to Madeline. She sagged back onto the pavement in relief and didn't answer him. Sherlock inclined his head to John and turned back to Moriarty.

"For the record those were hardly riddles. More like a beacon to your location." He intoned. Jim scowled at him darkly before readopting his smile again.

"Ooh and the hero is devoid of his coat!" Moriarty whistled cheerfully. Madeline noticed that Sherlock wasn't wearing his long coat, or even his scarf. He must have rushed over without a second thought. The detective frowned at him and turned to keep the criminal in his sight as Moriarty circled him.

"You're going to love this, Sherlock." He said, clapping his hands together and swinging them like a mace as he continued circling. "I've got a game show set up. You get to choose between three items. Want to hear what they are?" Sherlock said nothing as Jim grinned.

"I'll take that as a yes. Under curtain A we have your blogger Doctor John Watson!" He gestured theatrically to John as his voice adopted an announcer's tone. "And under curtain B we have one hundred of the populous!" Sherlock spun around multiple times as more of the parking deck's lights flickered on again, revealing the people huddled together with red lights dancing on their chests. Moriarty's smile grew wider.

"And under the last curtain we have the Dame of Baker Street, Miss Madeline Carver!" Madeline shrank back a little from her spot, switching her gaze from John, to Moriarty, to Sherlock. A small red light flew down from the ceiling and came to rest on her temple, where it quivered on her skin like a fly. Another one sprang from the ceiling and made itself at home on John's chest right above his heart. Sherlock showed no change in emotion as Moriarty came to a halt in from of him and spread his arms in a "ta-da" motion.

"How long did it take you to put this together? It's very elaborate." The detective said emotionlessly, like a spectator on foreign politics.

"Very elaborate, it took a little while to get the _volunteers_ rounded up and then to modify this old place but what can I say?" Jim shrugged, "It takes a novice chess player an average of three minutes to set up the board, but an experienced player will place the pieces and inspect the board to map out possible moves his opponent could make and counteract them in his head. It's all in the game!" Moriarty sang. Sherlock frowned at him.

"You have a flaw. There are always my brother and Scotland Yard to throw into the equation." He said lowly. Moriarty splayed his hand over his heart like he'd been shot and stumbled backwards theatrically with a swoon.

"Oh Sherlock, you underestimated me again. Of course I have a backup plan." He said with a snicker, exchanging the pocket knife for a penlight from his pocket and swinging it over some of the columns in the parking deck. The light traveled over little gray boxes strapped to the cement with grayish-green packs behind them. Their blank screens flickered to life simultaneously, flashing four zeros across the screen rhythmically. There were muffled gasps from the civilians huddled together under the harsh lights, some of them started to cry.

"If your brother or Scotland Yard try to break in I can guarantee you there won't be any picking- we'll _all_ go out with a boom." Moriarty hissed before raising his voice jovially. "I also made up a clock for you, that way you don't waste our time." He pointed to the crowd expectantly. "Jonathan, come on out." A small boy stepped forward from the group on shaky feet, and Madeline realized that it was the boy she'd seen the first night she'd met Moriarty and who had tricked her. She felt a tiny flare of anger deep in her stomach, but it extinguished itself when Jonathan stepped further into the light. His face had hollowed out since she'd last seen him, and he looked pale and worn. He shuffled towards Moriarty, who smiled.

"This is my young lad Jonathan. He's in a bit of a- situation so he helps me whenever he can. Say hi!" He said, Jonathan raised his fingers timidly as Moriarty grinned at him and raised his hand.

"No!" Sherlock shouted, taking a stride forward. Jim smirked at him and snapped his fingers.

_Bang_.

"Say bye!"

Jonathan fell sideways slowly, and when he hit the ground everything seemed to speed up. He lay there limply with his eyes closed gracefully as a small pool of red trickled from the hole in his temple and collected underneath his head. Madeline stared at his body in shock with her mouth open and her eyes wide. Sherlock and John had muted copies of her expression on their faces, and Moriarty just smiled.

"That's one. I'll shoot another for every minute and a half- actually no, every minute- no, a minute and a half you waste. Someone else come forward." He demanded, quirking an eyebrow when none of the civilians stepped up. "Alright, then go ahead and pick someone!" He shouted to the ceiling.

"Madeline close your eyes!" Sherlock shouted as a soft pop resonated from the ceiling and a young woman in the crowd keeled over in a spurt of red. Moriarty looked at the carnage and giggled as Madeline squeezed her eyes shut to force the image of the second murder from her mind.

"Madeline, I need you to look at me. No not over there, at me." John said in a pale voice. Madeline slowly dragged her eyes in the opposite direction of the crowd and fixed them on the gray, cracked pavement by John's knees. She desperately wanted to turn back to the people, but John reprimanded her quietly every time.

"Alright stop; _stop_." Sherlock said lowly. Jim rounded to face him merrily as the detective held up his hands in front of him. "I'll play your little game, but in return you need to let these people go." Sherlock indicated the cluster of people with his head. Moriarty cocked his head to the side, letting a lopsided grin slide onto his face.

"Alright, then who do you choose? You've got ten seconds, Mr. Holmes. After that-"Moriarty smiled coyly at him and tilted his head even farther. "After that you'll have nothing."

**A.N.- I had such a hard time starting this chapter off! I sat there for hours and couldn't think of what to write. Then I decided to skip to later in the chapter and write that part and connect them. And now I have no idea what happens next… sorry!**

**Any suggestions? I'm open for plot ideas!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A.N.- Over 6,000 almost to 7,000! Whoa this is amazing!**

**JackFrost'sGirl- Thank you! I've been afraid of making Jim so bad he becomes cliché and out of character, but I'm glad someone thinks it's working well.**

**shadajoserj- This chapter was so painstaking to write! When I read your comment I laughed because I'd just been griping to myself about my writer's block. It's here, though so enjoy it!**

**JaybiePepper- Good! I love cliffhangers, but I don't want to end every chapter like that- waay too repetitive. I guess you could call what Sherlock said about her a "scenario", but the good stuff between them is still a little bit up the road. The plot has to rise before it can **_**fall**_**… ahhh spoilers!**

**maddQueen- It's coming, one doesn't simply make Jim Moriarty go *poof* into a bad dream. He'll be back, because Madeline "fascinates" him, remember?**

**embermoonlight- Thank you, you're so sweet!**

**Glad you guys are on the edges of your seats, it means I'm doing my job. Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 16

Madeline flicked her eyes between the men in front of her. Moriarty tapped his foot impatiently on the cement, sending a _tap _echo farther into the parking deck. Sherlock's eyes darted quickly around the scene, and Madeline hoped he had a plan. She could feel the laser still hovering on her skin, threatening a bullet through her skull and another through John's chest at a moment's notice.

"My patience is waning." Moriarty drawled, Sherlock's eyes bounced to him then sprang away to inspect the bombs strapped to the columns.

"How dramatic you are." The detective said snidely. "Like a little child. Setting everything up so drastically like you're trying to impress me." Moriarty didn't flinch, he just gave Sherlock a wide smile.

"You know you appreciate it. You and I both know you do." He threw his head back to the ceiling and cleared his throat; Madeline saw the dot on John's chest crawl down his clothes and sprint across the pavement before taking up temporary residence on an elderly gentleman's forehead. He fell limp with a soft bang and she couldn't cover her eyes fast enough. John groaned quietly and looked away, and even Sherlock flinched.

"Tick tock tick tock, Sherlock." Jim said. The little dot flew back up John's chest to its post dutifully and quivered there, Sherlock eyed the light dancing on his flatmate's chest and frowned.

"Alright, let John go." He said as Moriarty was about to glance to the ceiling again. The criminal's face bent into an amused smile mixed with surprise and exhilaration. Madeline felt her eyes widen and her heart sink. She was going to die. That was it. She didn't blame him- he'd known John longer; but she couldn't keep herself from shaking and blinking back tears as cold fear flooded her hands and legs.

"I'm amused, Sherlock. Your blogger over your damsel? How unchivalrous of you," Moriarty scolded playfully. Sherlock grimaced and avoided looking at Madeline. She stared at the ground and rubbed at her wrists. Moriarty shrugged and raised his hand, John began to scramble to his feet and Madeline closed her eyes. Something swished and stopped with a click; and after a second Madeline opened her eyes, wondering why a bullet hadn't torn through her brain. Sherlock had pulled the same gun he'd held to Moriarty the night Madeline had met the criminal. Jim didn't even look slightly miffed. He simply quirked an eyebrow at the gun Sherlock was aiming at his face and blew air out of his mouth slowly.

"I knew you couldn't choose. Sherlock is gre-edy." He sang. The detective ignored his jibe and raised the gun higher.

"I will shoot you this time." He spat. Jim's eyebrows rose an inch in amusement.

"Of course you will, with me training snipers on your only two friends." He said smartly. Sherlock adjusted his grip on the pistol.

"I don't have-"

"Oh come _on_, it's such an old act!" Moriarty exploded, making John and Madeline jump. "You're degrading yourself to repulsive levels by tricking yourself into thinking you have _friends_!"

"That's not true!" John protested angrily, rising to his feet and ignoring Sherlock's demand to sit back down. Madeline took the doctor's cue and stepped forward off of her "X". She saw the laser dart back to John's chest out of the corner of her eye, and knew without a doubt the other laser was resting on her temple. Moriarty sneered at him and turned back to Sherlock.

"You've certainly fooled _them_ into believing it." He said. Sherlock grimaced at him and pulled back the hammer threateningly; but Jim held up his finger.

"And what's that?" He asked sarcastically as he cupped his hand around his ear and leaned to the side in silence. Madeline strained her ears to listen to the quiet and almost missed the faint sound of helicopter blades whirring through the air. It sounded like the sound was coming from outside of the concrete walls and steadily drawing nearer, but instead of feeling relieved at the prospect of rescue her heart started to hammer against her ribs even harder.

"Is that a helicopter I hear?" Moriarty sang. "Ooh, Sherlock- You lied to me." The detective gritted his teeth and loosened his grip on the gun before tightening it again.

"I told them to wait." He growled. Jim smiled wanly at him and raised his hand.

"Well, I guess our time's up." The criminal chuckled, throwing John a glance over his shoulder. "No hard feelings, I just don't feel like blowing everything up right now. I'll just leave you with minor casualties." He snapped his fingers again and a soft pop resonated from the ceiling. Madeline saw Sherlock's eyes widen in something she'd never seen him express before- sheer horror. She spun around as something whizzed past her ear in time to see John reel backwards with a spurt of red leaping from his chest.

"John!" She screamed. Sherlock dropped his gun and sprinted to his flatmate's side. Jim frowned disappointedly at the detective's back before turning on his heel to walk away. Madeline noticed the red lights had disappeared, so she took it the snipers were gone. She darted forward and snatched Sherlock's discarded gun from the floor and aimed it at Moriarty's back.

"Stop, I'll shoot you." She said in a watery voice, shaking from lack of food and cold, not to mention the adrenaline trying to keep her awake and alive. Jim turned and gave her a smile over his shoulder.

"Course you won't, darling. We all know you can't pull a trigger to save your life. Quite literally." He winked at her and resumed walking.

"I- I mean it!" Madeline shrieked.

"Go tend to Dr. Watson." Moriarty said, casually striding into the depths of the car park. "I'll see you again soon." No sooner had the darkness swallowed him than Lestrade and his team burst into the parking deck and began to sweep the floor. Paramedics sprinted in with a stretcher between them and carefully loaded John onto it despite the malicious looks Sherlock was giving them. Madeline stared in the direction Moriarty had escaped in. She had the feeling he was still there, watching; but when an officer's flashlight beam swung across the area she saw that there was nobody there. Someone tried to pull the gun from her hands, and for a second she started and jerked back until Lestrade's face came into focus.

"Easy, Miss Carver. Everyone's okay, you can let go of the gun." He gently relieved her of the weapon and escorted her outside, where paramedics draped a thick blanket over her shoulders and she sat in a trance on the tailgate of an ambulance. The ambulance carrying John and a possessive Sherlock had already left, and police officers were escorting the civilian hostages out of the parking deck calmly.

"How did he get all these people?" Lestrade murmured incredulously. Madeline shrugged and stared at the pavement absently. Two officers and a paramedic walked by them carrying out a body bag that hung between them limply. Madeline avoided looking at the bag, as well as the two other ones that followed it. Lestrade frowned at her in concern.

"Do you want to go home?" He asked. She wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed her shoulders like she was trying to hold herself together.

"I don't know," She whispered, "I don't know."

. . .

Madeline sat outside of Lestrade's office, still clutching the shock blanket around her shoulders. Sherlock was discussing what had happened with Lestrade inside the room, and she could hear the detective muttering profanity about Moriarty and pacing on Lestrade's floor. John was safely in the hospital, recovering from the sniper round that shot him through his right breast. Madeline hadn't heard any further details, and the notion worried her.

"You are not to mention the case or the deaths around Miss Carver, understood?" Sherlock said fiercely, glaring at Lestrade over his desk. "She saw two people murdered in front of her and is on edge. Have some discretion." Lestrade nodded wordlessly as Sherlock continued to pace for a moment then strode from Lestrade's office with Madeline trailing behind him. Sherlock stopped for a second and tilted her head back, and to the inspector it looked like he was inspecting the front of her throat. The detective's lip curled in anger as he spun on his heel and continued out of Scotland Yard. Madeline pulled the blanket closer around her and shuffled after him. They hailed a taxi and disappeared down the street.

Lestrade leaned forward in his chair and knitted his fingers over the case files. This was getting out of hand. Jim Moriarty was wreaking mayhem and killing civilians, Mycroft Holmes had stepped in to assist in a simple police investigation, and Sherlock Holmes was showing affection.

"Too much crazy," He murmured into his hands. "London can't handle this."

. . .

John was confined to bed rest. According to his doctor the bullet had only just grazed his lung, but it had already begun to deflate and collapse by the time he'd made it to the hospital. Luckily the doctors in St. Bart's ER had been able to stop the bleeding and siphon out the blood. One of the nurses told Madeline that Sherlock had watched them do the entire process with a scowl. She just nodded and took a seat by John's bed. Sherlock stood behind her. The doctor was asleep with the number of antibiotics and painkillers transferring into his system, but the doctors assured them he'd be awake by the next morning. The medical staff then left the three of them in silence, with Madeline sitting by the bed and Sherlock studying John's monitors critically.

"How is your neck feeling?" He asked after a minute. Madeline shifted her hand to her neck, she could still feel hands clenching around her throat.

"It's okay." She said meekly, Sherlock huffed and watched John's finger twitch in his sleep.

"Good, those bruises should heal within a week." He said blandly, Madeline nodded and turned her focus to knitting her fingers together and then pulling them apart.

"I tried to tell you before you left." Madeline began, petering out of courage when Sherlock turned his eyes on her. "Um, Jim stole my meds; and he said if I told you or John he'd come back and kill us. That's what I was trying to tell you before." Madeline said quickly, pushing all the words out in a stream and letting them hang in the air tensely. "Just thought you should know." She added quietly. Sherlock gave her a look that she couldn't really decipher. His face looked sorry, but his eyes looked angry. Madeline avoided looking the detective in the eyes and went back to studying John's bed sheets. Sherlock coughed intentionally behind her and tugged at his shirt cuffs.

"I'm glad you- and John are alright, Miss Carver." He said awkwardly. She turned and gave him a pained smile.

"Thank you for coming. John and I were so… scared." Madeline's voice rose and cracked for a second before she regained control of it. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her and handed her a paper cup of water, thinking she was dehydrated. Madeline accepted the cup with a tiny laugh and fidgeted with it. They sat in silence for a second until she realized Sherlock was waiting for her to elaborate. Madeline cleared her throat awkwardly and scratched the side of the cup with her fingernail.

"I really thought he was going to kill us." She said softly. "I mean there were snipers and everything and the blood, and the people, and the- oh my God, Sherlock he killed Jonathan! He killed the boy from that alleyway!" Tears began to blur Madeline's eyes until she felt a hand on her knee. She blinked to clear her vision and saw John rubbing her knee feebly with a pale hand.

"It's okay," He said, "Everything's going to be alright. The other hostages are safe, and we're all fine." He said hoarsely.

"But-"

"You couldn't have helped them, Miss Carver. The shots taken didn't revolve on you being there. It was Moriarty's trap for me, and I arrived too late." Sherlock said sternly before striding to the door. "I'll go- alert the doctors that you're awake, John." With that the detective left awkwardly. John smiled weakly after his friend and tapped the IV connecting a blood transfusion to his right arm.

"Annoying, that." He said, Madeline tried her best to smile at him before they were interrupted by Sherlock poking his head back into the room.

"These are yours, Miss Carver." He said, tossing a small orange bottle at her. She fumbled for it and discovered that it was her medicine bottle. Madeline looked up gratefully to thank him but he was already gone. John insisted on watching her take her medicine and soon fell back asleep. Madeline relished in the feeling of the hole inside her being filled up, and soon felt her adrenaline wearing off completely. She stifled a yawn and curled up in the visitor's chair beside John's hospital bed, determined to only close her eyes for a second; but soon she was out cold. Sherlock stepped back into the room irately, fresh from an argument with John's doctor. He had an insulting rant on the tip of his tongue but stopped short at the sight of his flatmate and neighbor fast asleep in the hospital room. John was flat on his back and sleeping peacefully, and Madeline was curled up in the chair beside him and snoring slightly. Sherlock scoffed, "Hopeless," He murmured, banishing the smirk from his face. "Absolutely hopeless." He left them a note dictating that he'd gone back to Baker Street for the afternoon and left again, but not before checking on them one last time.

"Completely hopeless."

**A.N.- My will petered out towards the end of this chapter (like Madeline's courage, heehee). I kind of gave in to my fluff side and let Sherlock show some emotion. Ta-daa! Jim will be back, so don't worry. This chapter was just a wind-down from his latest scheme. It's all good, he'll be back for round 2 (3, I guess?) soon enough! **

**Plot ideas/ reviews are welcome! Thanks!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A.N.- I suppose one could say nothing much has happened so far… so I'll be upping the ante soon enough and getting things serious. The best thing about OCs is that you get to make one and think of the worst things you can do to them. (Mwaha) Nah, I like them for their originality and there are so many ways to make them! (Try making a permutation with OC's)**

**embermoonlight- I tried to put a little fluff in that Sherlock would brush off and deny if they'd actually been awake. He's starting to care, it's just taking him a while to openly show it. He won't ever get too out about it, though. And John touched her knee, not Sherlock haha.**

**maddQueen- Have you ever seen Deadman Wonderland? Your review reminded me of a character who always calls people meanies angrily then runs away laughing (Shiro). *Returns hug* you're not being weird, I've gotten some crazy reviews before.**

**Shadajoserj- Whoa this is such an awesome review! Thanks, I'm honored you think it's the literary equivalent to the show. I did my best to make Sherlock's affection a small thing that wouldn't be OOC for him. I'm winging something around Jim's interest in Madeline, but hopefully nobody will start a shipping war… (actually it'd be interesting to see.) Jim will be back though. Fear not. ;)**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 17

Sherlock refused to let Madeline return to her flat. He demanded she stay with John in the hospital until he was discharged and then take up temporary residence in one of their rooms with its previous owner sleeping on the couch. Madeline didn't protest: she didn't want to go back to her bloodstained and wrecked apartment. Just looking down the hallway made her want to cry. She was furious at Jim under all of her guilt and sadness that he had killed K.C. and left him as a calling card, and she vowed quietly to herself she'd hit him squarely the next time she saw him. When they'd all returned Mrs. Hudson came in frequently bearing trays of tea or biscuits. She fussed over them incessantly but none of them objected. Madeline insisted that John keep his bed since he'd moved back into 221 B after being discharged from the hospital; and decided mutually with Sherlock that she'd sleep in his room since he never used it anyway.

John was sleeping off his antibiotics in his bedroom while Sherlock and Madeline sat awkwardly in the living room. They had tried playing chess to banish their boredom, but Sherlock always won within the first five set of moves. Madeline had politely refused to play another game with him and plucked a book from Sherlock's bookcase before settling into John's chair and starting to read.

The detective on the other hand had no cases to work on and no leads on Moriarty, and Madeline had forbade him from shooting the wall and disrupting John's sleep. He amused himself by taking all the strings off of his violin and stripping them of their colorful yarn at the end and tried to figure out which string went where. After he'd figured that out he unraveled the wire from around the strings until he had piles of wire sitting around him. Sherlock then refashioned the strings and recoiled them into place meticulously. After that he restrung his violin and tuned it to perfection before beginning to play gently on it. Madeline nodded her head to the melody as she turned a page in the book and Sherlock grimaced, wanting to play something loud and fast to vent his boredom.

But nooo, because _John_ was _sleeping_.

"So," Madeline said finally, keeping her finger in her book and closing the pages around it to keep her place. "How did you find us?" Her voice was solemn and timid, but her face looked expectant of an answer. Sherlock continued to play his violin as he put together words in his mind.

"Moriarty sent Scotland Yard a picture of a parking lot. He'd left messages on the pavement that gave me clues to your location." Madeline raised an eyebrow at him, sensing that wasn't all that had happened. Sherlock glared back at her.

"And Irene Addler offered insight." He muttered dejectedly, angry he hadn't solved it himself. His neighbor tried to hide her expression behind her book, and Sherlock understood the conversation was over. He stopped playing and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

"So then I found you and had Lestrade and Mycroft wait outside." That caught her attention.

"Mycroft was there? Why?"

"He has a vendetta with Moriarty as well. It's a matter of who gets to him first." Sherlock said coldly. Madeline smiled a little and closed her book around her finger again, her subtle mania swing was brimming behind her tightly closed lips. The detective went back to playing soft melodies over the strings, not really wanting her undivided attention. She waited raptly for him to elaborate until he pulled his violin from his chin.

"I wasn't there to save you, nor am I your knight in shining armor." Sherlock snapped, his lip curling slightly at the thought. Madeline didn't seem to hear his words, or if she did she saw through them.

"Maybe my knight in tarnished armor?" She asked, pulling a new but crinkled cigarette out of her pocket and waving it at Sherlock. "Nicked it from Mrs. Hudson's set." She explained, "Sorry if you don't like this kind; but it's my thank you gift." Sherlock glanced at the cigarette uninterestedly before snatching it from her hand; and at the same time his other hand darted forward and slapped the inside of her arm through her sleeve. Madeline drew back a little bit and hissed in pain. She couldn't tell if Sherlock was triumphant or disappointed as he reclined in his chair and lit the cigarette.

"So you did it again."

"I had to."

"That's ridiculous."

"I did!" She argued, "If I hadn't asked John to write me a new prescription the whole thing wouldn't have happened!" Her mania swing pushed at her mind insistently, trying to make her smile and laugh but she ignored it. Sherlock sat quietly in his chair and smoked the cigarette delicately, waiting for her to continue; but Madeline didn't feel comfortable talking about her arms without John in the room.

"Are your medicines not working?" The detective asked.

"They're fine." Madeline responded shortly, he noticed her body language was becoming more and more antisocial and closed off.

"Those people Moriarty killed. It wasn't your fault-"

"It is."

"Quit interrupting me." Sherlock snapped angrily, "The trap was set for me, you were just part of his bait. Get it through your thick skull." Madeline sat silently in John's chair, not quite sure how to respond. "Jim had every intention of killing you." Sherlock continued, "He would have killed those people regardless of your involvement so shut up about it; your guilt is annoying and unnecessary." Madeline ran the tip of her forefinger across the inside of her left wrist. She could see the red and pink streaks running under her sleeve from a certain angle, and she was sure Sherlock could, too. Her muted mania swing was still pushing against her mind and emotions, but she wasn't done yet.

"You really confuse me." Madeline mumbled quietly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and demanded she speak more clearly. Madeline repeated her statement and he smirked.

"I confuse a lot of people, don't be so disheartened. Being ordinary is ordinary." Madeline finally relented and gave him a tepid smile, allowing the mania beating on her mind with its last dying breath to flood her with relief. She assumed this was Sherlock Holmes putting forth an effort to be civil, and she was determined to enjoy it. He didn't return her smile, he just repositioned his violin and began to play a lilting tune that made Madeline want to dance. He kept playing until the curtains by the door shifted with an intangible breeze. Sherlock stopped the song mid note and stood abruptly, tucking his violin under his arm and holding his bow tightly.

"What do you want?" He growled at the door. It swung open a second later to reveal his brother, who strolled into the flat like he owned the building- which might be probable.

"Ah, hello Brother Dearest. Serenading are we?" Mycroft said snarkily. Sherlock gave him a withering look and turned to look down the hallway to John's room.

"If you'd keep your blithering to a minimum I'd appreciate it. John is recovering." He said icily. Madeline slowly reopened Sherlock's book and resumed reading, doing her best to avoid the tension stretching between the brothers menacingly. Mycroft raised his eyebrows at the book he recognized from his sibling's shelf, but Sherlock distracted him by brandishing his violin bow like a fencing foil.

"So you're in my flat again why?" He asked apathetically. Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes before exhaling exasperatedly.

"My employer has requested I employ your services again." He responded in a falsely tolerant voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes and collapsed into his chair, Madeline flicked her eyes up from the page briefly before continuing to read.

"I think I'm done running service errands for you, _brother_." Sherlock said absently, Mycroft rolled his eyes and swung his umbrella around his hand impatiently.

"I think you owe me, Sherlock. I was the one who used the satellite to find your car park, _not to mention_ I supplied the helicopter and aided you in rescuing Dr. Watson and Miss Carver." His eyes roamed around the room and lit on Madeline for a moment. "I'd say you're indebted to me." He said.

"Only for the moment," Sherlock said, standing from his chair with a grimace. "What do you want me to do?" Mycroft smirked triumphantly and pulled a manila folder from the depths of his coat and handed them to his brother nonchalantly.

"No murders for you this time, I'm afraid." The older one said condescendingly. "Just a case of a missing person." Sherlock wrinkled his nose and opened the folder. Madeline closed her book out of curiosity and stood by his elbow to see the folder's contents. Mycroft gave his brother a look as she glanced at the files; and Sherlock mouthed expletives at him.

"Anyway, this- individual is someone you know, obviously." Sherlock's face didn't change, but Madeline's nose wrinkled slightly.

"One Miss Irene Addler disappeared from our radar the day you rescued Miss Carter and Dr. Watson." Mycroft elaborated. Sherlock snorted as he leafed through the surveillance photos of Irene and the files on her in the folder.

"You're lucky she let you take these of her." He said.

"Of course not, those were taken secretively." Mycroft admonished.

"Don't be daft, she wouldn't _let_ you get pictures of her." Sherlock snapped. "Moriarty will know she- helped in the search so she felt the need to disappear. When he is gone she'll reappear." Mycroft drummed his fingers on his crossed arms.

"Wonderful. When you finally get him let me know; but we need Miss Addler back under surveillance. We can't let her roam unsupervised." He snipped.

"Oh please, Mycroft she's a fully grown woman not a child. Not to mention she's smarter than some of your governmental friends." Sherlock returned. Madeline shifted uncomfortably and moved back to John's chair. Mycroft regained his smirk and strolled to the door.

"Well since you don't have a current case I expect you to funnel all of your time into this one." He said sternly.

"I do have a case." Sherlock shot back. "I'm going to find Jim Moriarty." Madeline looked up at him from her book in surprise and quickly resumed reading. Mycroft rolled his eyes and hooked his umbrella over his forearm, then reclaimed Irene's folder from Sherlock. He inclined his head to Madeline and cut his eyes to his brother before striding from 221 B pompously and getting into the car waiting for him by the curb. Madeline and Sherlock sat in silence in the flat while Sherlock glared after his brother's car until it turned the corner.

"You were too open and easy to read there." Sherlock reprimanded, Madeline looked up again and tried to keep her expression flat. "You could make it a little less obvious that you don't like Mycroft." She exhaled a sigh of relief.

"He's intimidating." She supplied, even though Mycroft wasn't the one she didn't care for.

"Or Irene." Sherlock added. Madeline shut her mouth and stared at her hands.

"Hey guys." John wheezed as he staggered into the living room. Madeline jumped to her feet and helped him to the couch. Sherlock stepped away from the window and waited until his flatmate was situated to fill him in on Mycroft's visit. John seemed dazed and tired, and only seemed like he heard half of what Sherlock said in his rant. Madeline decided to leave them be for a second and step outside.

"Wherrre are you goinggg?" John slurred sleepily. Madeline grabbed her coat and her bag as well as Sherlock's book.

"I'm going to the lab to do some work. I haven't been there in about a week." She supplied.

"Miss Carver-" Sherlock warned.

"I know, I know. I'll be safe." Madeline consoled him. He gave her a skeptical look and she smiled back before shrugging on her coat and leaving with her book under her arm. John slumped forward as soon as the door shut unconsciously, knocking his forehead on the coffee table. Sherlock regarded him curiously and debated what to do.

"Miss Carver, Miss Carver!" He shouted after Madeline. She didn't respond, so he pulled John up by his collar and tried his best to lay the doctor on the couch. John began to snore heavily and Sherlock rubbed his temples before picking up his violin and trying to play louder than his flatmate.

. . .

"I like this one." Madeline murmured to herself, trying to keep her lab notebook from spilling out of her arms and still read Sherlock's book. The chapter was centered on tying genetics to personality traits, and she was deeply engrossed in it. She had the oddest feeling that someone was watching her and did a quick three-sixty spin, but nobody was specifically looking at her. Madeline frowned and kept reading, already trying to figure out an LG3 gene combination to make someone more social.

. . .

_Do you see her?_

"Yes," They sighed, "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop nagging."

_I'd appreciate it if I could trust you to do something correctly._

"You know what-"They growled, "I'm getting there, so you can leave me to my job." They hung up in a huff and wrapped their coat around them more tightly before taking a seat on a chilly park bench outside and waiting.

**A.N.- Eh. This happened. There was more fluff in here than I'd expected… SORRY!**

**Reviews are welcome!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A.N.- Happy Halloween! I decided to cosplay Fem!Eren Jaeger and made my OWN 3DM Gear that took me all week. I cut tabs into the boxes and put my candy in there. **

**Clever girl…**

**embermoonlight- Thanks, I'm trying to ration the fluff in does that doesn't make people sick but makes them want more. XD Is it working?**

**MaddQueen- Thanks, I'm trying not to copy much from the show and take it my own way; but I'm glad it sounds good. **

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 18

Over the following weeks Madeline worked diligently to catch up on all the scans and work she had missed. Every morning she'd wake up early and trudge to her lab tiredly, and every morning she had the distinct feeling that someone was following her. Madeline even deviated her normal route to St. Bart's and detoured down side streets to take a different way to work. Nobody approached her, and she didn't see anyone, but there was certainly someone watching. The press began to pay much more attention to the Baker Street inhabitants after the events with Moriarty, and often times Madeline thought the person following her to work was a reporter; but it felt much more sinister.

Madeline had found a cleaning service and hired them to clean her flat. They gave her curious looks at the request after seeing the condition of her apartment, but after an explanatory phone call from one Mycroft Holmes (who was blackmailed by one Sherlock Holmes) they bit their tongues and did their job. Madeline was able to move back into her flat and give Sherlock back his bed in the event that he would ever use it. John's punctured lung healed exceptionally well after one small episode of a possible infection where Mrs. Hudson and Madeline hovered over him in the ER and Sherlock was nowhere to be found. They hadn't heard from John's girlfriend at all.

Sometimes Madeline, John, and Sherlock would walk outside of 221 B and step into a cesspool of reporters and flashing cameras as well as insane fans who tried to push their way through. Sherlock began to receive requests for many cases and fan mail and packages, he ignored them, though so it was mostly John and Madeline who responded to them. One package had an awkward looking floppy hat included in it. John had waved it at Sherlock jokingly, making jibes about how he could use it to avoid the press.

"I don't want that hat. I hate that hat." Sherlock growled childishly.

"Fine, then. I'll wear it." Madeline declared, cramming it onto her head smartly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stepped outside, and she and John followed. As soon as the door opened the three of them were blinded by the flashing bulbs of photographers and news reporters. Sherlock scowled and snatched the hat from Madeline's head before jamming it onto his own and pulling his coat collar up high against his face. A week later the local tabloid ran a picture of Sherlock's arm in a blur above Madeline's head and her surprised expression as he stole the hat from her. John smirked and made sure to show the article to his flatmate while Madeline was at work.

"You even let her wear your hat, Sherlock."

"You were welcome to wear it if only you'd asked." The detective responded shortly. John quirked an eyebrow at his flatmate.

"Oh so you're doing requests, now? No thanks, mate." Sherlock grimaced and rolled his eyes before turning back to the skeleton key he was purposely trying to corrode in peroxide out of boredom.

. . .

Christmas steadily drew nearer, and on Christmas Eve John and Madeline (much to Sherlock's chagrin) invited Molly Hooper, Lestrade, Anderson, and Mrs. Hudson to 221 B. Sherlock begrudgingly played Christmas carols on the violin while Molly and Madeline harmonized poorly with the music. Mrs. Hudson had worked "all day long to get treats ready" for everyone, apparently; although Sherlock muttered under his breath that she had been shopping for the perfect Christmas sweater. The old woman had huffed exasperatedly at him before throwing him, John, and Madeline Christmas sweaters that rivalled each other in horrific reindeer and snowflake designs. John thanked Mrs. Hudson and pulled his over his head, while Madeline politely folded hers away and kicked at Sherlock's shin until he muttered his thanks and then resumed acting like a spoilt man-child.

After the Christmas party had died down the guests began to drain out. Anderson was the first to leave, then Molly Hooper, and then Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson waved goodnight to John, Madeline, and Sherlock before wishing them a Merry Christmas and returning to 221 A. John smiled after her and reached for the Christmas tree as soon as the landlady disappeared from sight. Sherlock stood a little quickly and bundled his scarf and coat around his face, then hurried outside. John frowned after his flatmate and handed Madeline a medium sized box. She opened it and her eyes widened in excitement.

"Thank you!" She exclaimed, lifting a fat calico cat from the depths of the box gently. John beamed at her and gestured to the cat grandly.

"Merry Christmas, you've been pretty lonely in your flat without K.C." His voice dwindled out, hoping he hadn't said the wrong thing but Madeline carried on with a smile.

"She's so soft." She murmured, stroking the top of the cat's head gently. The animal glared at her with surly eyes and mewled. Madeline grinned and touched her nose to the tip of the calico's, the animal hissed.

"I have a name for you, madam." She said to the cat in a reprimanding but kind tone. "I'll name you Sherry."

John could have sworn he saw the cat roll her eyes.

"Why that?" He asked. Madeline turned towards him and bounced the newly christened Sherry in her arms gently like she had with K.C. The cat struggled in her arms for a moment then made herself comfortable and resigned herself to being petted.

"Because sherry is a drink that hinders people's actions and makes them act out sometimes." Madeline explained in one breath accompanied by a shrug. John leaned onto his arm, making sure to cover his smirk with his hand.

"Really? Because I could argue that that cat acts a lot like Sherlock." He jibed. Madeline held Sherry at arm's length and inspected her carefully before pulling her back to her chest gently.

"She's not a bad cat, she just needs to get used to me." She said defensively, sinking into Sherlock's chair. John held up his hands in surrender, and his neighbor took the opportunity to put her new cat in his lap and spread cat hair all over his horrid Christmas sweater.

"New case!" Sherlock said, storming into the flat in a whirlwind of newspapers with a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. "Someone died!" John rolled his eyes and snatched the cigarette from his flatmate before snuffing it out in the sink. Madeline sat back, holding Sherry in her arms disinterestedly and trying not to smile at the thought that Sherlock had found her Christmas present of cigarettes. The cat looked like it could care less what was going on, it eyed the leftover finger foods placed around the room on plates and mewled hungrily. Sherlock eyed the cat quickly,

"Ah yes, hope you like it. Merry Christmas, Miss Carver. So this man was found hanging-"The detective continued to prattle on, but Madeline was a little surprised. Originally she thought that Sherry was a gift just from John, but apparently she had been from both of them.

"Slow down, Sherlock." John said, breaking Madeline's train of thought. "Repeat that last part."

"Cleaning rod through his ears," Sherlock said hurriedly, "A mother of two found him hanging from a lamp post on Norfolk Street. Pay attention." Madeline resisted the urge to retch and politely kept quiet to let Sherlock wear his rant out. She absently wondered if John had found the new stethoscope she'd hidden in his bag yet.

"People are dubbing the killer 'The Candyman' because apparently he left an empty sweet wrapper in the man's breast pocket." He continued.

"Candyman?" Madeline mused to herself, Sherlock heard her and rolled his eyes.

"The public's name, not mine." He snipped. She held up her hands defensively and smiled, Sherry took the moment to spring from her lap, streak down the hall, and disappear into John's bedroom. After Madeline had retrieved her and put the cat in 221 C she found John and Sherlock already discussing farther parts of the case.

"That's what they did in the Korean War. The Turks hung a thief over their entrance gate with a cleaning rod through his ears." John said thoughtfully, Madeline scowled slightly at the fact that Sherlock had taken her spot in his chair. He ignored her and steepled his fingers.

"Yes, but not many people know about it, so perhaps we're looking at a military man." He mused aloud. "Propriety doesn't apply to me, Miss Carver I'm not going to offer you my chair." The detective said randomly when he noticed Madeline giving him a pointed look from across the room. She huffed and perched herself on the arm of John's chair precariously and put her chin on top of her hands.

"I gave you cigarettes." She muttered. "So the candy wrapper- what kind was it?" She asked loudly after catching the disapproving glance John gave her, Sherlock jumped up from his chair zealously and began to pace in front of the couch.

"Nobody knows; it wasn't a generic sweet wrapper it was a foil one with nothing in it. So maybe a veteran working in a sweets factory?" The detective mused, scowling when he turned around and saw that Madeline had boldly sunk into his chair again. He frowned and strode from the flat, still wrapped tightly in his scarf and coat. John gestured after him with his hand.

"And there he goes. Merry Christmas to all," He said in a voice laced with exasperation.

"And to all a good night." Madeline finished for him, bidding the doctor goodnight and returning to her flat.

. . .

Sherlock returned sometime in the night, because Madeline could hear him shooting the wall all the way from her flat. She groaned and rolled out of bed, trying to avoid stepping on Sherry. She threw on a robe and trudged upstairs in her slippers after placating a frantic but furious Mrs. Hudson.

"Seriously? It's Christmas, Sherlock take a break!" Madeline shouted, throwing 221 B's door open and shuffling inside. Sherlock was spinning the gun around his forefinger apathetically in his blue bathrobe before stopping and aiming another shot past Madeline at the wall. She ducked and pressed her palms to her ears.

"It's too easy!" He shouted, pressing another bullet into the wallpaper. Madeline snatched the gun from him and tossed it to safety on the couch. John stumbled out of his room bleary eyed and tired.

"Sorry, day at the clinic." He explained, "I'll be back later tonight, okay? Thanks for the stethoscope." He added to Madeline before stumbling out the door with his tie loosely draped around his neck and shaving cream behind his jawline. Madeline watched him go in disappointment before rounding on Sherlock.

"You don't have work, so be quiet." She snapped, "I'm trying to sleep."

"And what mood is this?" Sherlock retorted snarkily, striding past her and picking up his gun from the couch before examining the papers and strings he had tacked to the wall between the bullet holes.

"I inspected the man who was murdered." He said absently, ignoring the sick look on Madeline's face. "The wrapper was carefully folded into sixteen squares as a calling card, and the cleaning rod was devoid of any fingerprints and only stained with engine oil and the victim's gray matter."

"And who was the victim?" Madeline asked. Sherlock turned and hopped down from the table with a wide smile that wasn't aimed at her as much as it was at himself.

"Excellent a man by the name of Robert Jacobson. Part of America's Eighth Army in the Korean War." He said.

"He sounds American," Madeline murmured. "So why is he- dead?" Sherlock grinned and spun around to survey the collage he'd tacked up.

"Someone had a grudge to bear against him, and they took it out on him."

"Maybe somebody from Turkey?" Madeline asked, "John said something about people being hung with rods through their ears in Turkey."

"Yes, a thief." Sherlock said, "The Turks didn't play around, they inserted a cleaning rod through his ears and hung him while he was still alive. It matches with the autopsy almost perfectly."

"Almost?" Madeline said. Sherlock spun around and spread his arms as far out as he could while he spun around.

"Yes, almost. The man in Turkey was still alive when he was hung, Mr. Jacobson wasn't." It took Madeline a couple of minutes to come up with an intelligent response.

"What?" Sherlock groaned and massaged at his temples.

"Our killer was going for replication, so if he could have he would have hung Jacobson whilst still alive. But something stopped him." He explained, using exaggerated motions.

"Police?" Madeline guessed, Sherlock huffed.

"Not hardly, they can't do their job. More likely lack of strength or courage. They couldn't have lifted him while he was alive and struggling or they didn't have the heart to. They waited for him to die. So they were working alone or the blood would have flowed differently in Jacobson's body before his death, but the autopsy shows he was in a supine position at the time of death."

"A wh-"

"_Lying down_, Miss Carver. You work in a hospital."

"You know what, Mr. Holm-"

"So it was either a lack of strength or courage that stopped the murderer from hanging Jacobson alive, so we're looking for someone older; maybe who fought in the Korean War as well." Sherlock continued, plowing through Madeline's agitation and making her more aggravated by the minute.

"How are you sure it's not a descendant of someone who served with Jacobson who killed him?" She asked tersely. Sherlock snapped his fingers at her and shook his hands out like they were wet,

"I ran a laboratory test on the sweets wrapper and apparently it's tea berry gum, something they chewed often in Korea. Lots of soldiers suffer PTSD and use small things like suckers or gum to relieve their stress. He basically left his identification card." He said triumphantly. Madeline shrugged and returned to her flat to gather her things for work. Sherry was fast asleep on her owner's bed and didn't feel the least bit inclined to move over so Madeline could make the bed. Madeline sighed and gathered her notebooks before leaving for St. Bart's.

. . .

She felt like someone was watching her again, but this time it felt like there were more eyes on her.

_What if Jim gave me a hallucinogen?_ She thought before banishing the thought with a vigorous shake of her head. She hadn't eaten anything, and if it had been in the air John would be paranoid, too.

Madeline had lunch with Molly in her lab instead of the morgue like Molly had awkwardly suggested. After that the day was very relaxed and very few protein requests came in. Madeline packed up her bags around three in the afternoon and headed home early. As soon as she turned onto Baker Street she saw police lights flashing quietly in front of the apartments. Madeline dashed out of the cab and into her apartment only to find it devastated. She felt a cold surge of panic shock her for a second until Lestrade stepped through her door and handed Sherry to her. Madeline clutched the irate cat to her chest and slowly made her way to 221 B. Sherlock was sitting in his flat with his arms crossed angrily. An older man sat bound to one of the chairs from the kitchen with what looked like nylon rope.

"What the hell happened here?" Madeline exclaimed, Sherlock nodded his head at the man who was trying to shout obscenities around the sock tied around his mouth.

"This is our murderer. One Lance Corporal Barry Mahon from the American Eighth Army." The detective explained, rolling a can of pressurized air in his hands apathetically. Madeline frowned at the semicircle shaped bruise that stretched from Lance Corporal Mahon's temple and dipped right below his cheekbone like he'd been hit with something circular.

"He had the audacity to rifle through my things." Sherlock said, his lip twitching in disgust. "Apparently word traveled that I'd taken Robert Jacobson's murder case and he decided to try and destroy any evidence I'd gleaned so far."

"Which I'm guessing wasn't much." Lestrade said from the doorway. Sherlock reined in his obvious disdain and crossed his arms firmly.

"He also didn't know which flat belonged to me, so he decided to ransack all of the other flats as well." The detective said. Madeline bounced Sherry in her arms gently, but the cat mewled at her irately.

"Sherlock, _why_ are there police cars outside again-"John panted as he sprinted up the stairs and fell speechless when he saw Mahon strapped to one of his dining chairs. Sherlock gave his flatmate a patronizing smile and stood, tossing the aerosol can between his hands agitatedly.

"Nice of you to join the party." He said, John huffed and continued down the hall to his room, muttering about long office days and hectic "break-ins and murderers in the living room". Madeline and Lestrade watched him go until Sherlock swung his arm and struck the Lance Corporal in the jaw with the can's long side. Lestrade jumped forward with a shout and Madeline snatched the can from Sherlock's hand.

"Quit it!" She growled at him, trying to keep Sherry from spilling out of her arms and still hold the can. He glared back at her silently as Mahon spit blood from his mouth. Lestrade pushed between the Lance Corporal and Sherlock and untied the man. He pulled him to his feet and replaced the ropes with handcuffs before escorting the Lance Corporal outside. John came stumbling out of the hallway and pushed Sherlock away from the chair, growling at his flatmate to clear his head. Sherlock huffed and began to gather the papers and books that had been scattered around the flat and restore 221 B to its former ordered chaos. Madeline decided to keep the aerosol can out of Sherlock's reach and took it back to her flat along with herself and Sherry.

. . .

Luckily there wasn't much damage done to 221 C. The Lance Corporal must have noticed that he was in the wrong apartment and left quickly, but not before overturning Madeline's bookshelf and scrambling her lab reports that she had meticulously sorted. She was angry with Barry Mahon for breaking into the Baker Street apartments and for ransacking her things but couldn't help but wince at the bruise Sherlock had given him. He was an older man, how could he have possibly killed Robert Jacobson and hung him by himself? Sherlock had been ranting about the man's rank non-stop. True Mahon had been a Lance Corporal in his prime but he was old now. There was no feasible way he could kill and hang a man at his age. And Sherlock had ruled that there was no accomplice. Madeline frowned and finished categorizing her reports.

She flopped onto her bed and debated whether to eat or fall asleep until she remembered something she hadn't checked- her box. Madeline rolled off of her bed and yanked her dresser drawer open, pawing through her clothes until she found the floral patterned box. It didn't seem like Lance Corporal Mahon had touched it in his search, but she opened it just in case. As she flipped the lid off of the box a small yellow note fluttered to the floor like a freed bird. Madeline caught her breath and slowly leaned down to pinch the note between her fingers. She unfolded it with shaking hands and read it aloud to herself.

"Watch out for rust. Regards, JM." Madeline quickly tore the note to pieces and tossed the shreds into her waste bin, determined not to let his words have their effect on her.

"Stupid bastard." She muttered.

**A.N.- New case! And after this is done I will unveil one of my favorite parts! Hey, I got a Vine account so if you're feeling it look up Madison Hobbs on Vine.**

**Happy Halloween!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A.N.- Thanks for all your support, guys! We're doing well! I'm not going to be able to post as frequently nowadays because math is the worst thing in the world. Much less math classes thrown at my face 4 years too early. **

**Ughhhhh numbers… hey that means this is chapter 19!**

**JaybiePepper- Thanks, you're so kind. ^_^**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 19

"It's too simple. Too simple." Sherlock growled to himself as he slid the block of resin up and down the strings of his bow. John sat in his chair and alternated between sipping his coffee and reading the paper.

"You solved it, it's done." Madeline said absently, not sparing a glance from the paperwork she was doing at the kitchen table amid some of Sherlock's smoking beakers and bottles. Sherlock grimaced and tapped the end of the bow against his temple.

"But it was too easy. A case like that doesn't resolve itself that quickly." He griped. John rolled his eyes and fluffed his newspaper.

"Then go find yourself a new case. This was your first one since our adventure in the car park." The doctor said compliantly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and twirled the bow around his fingers to release some of his energy.

"I can't, it feels like the case is unfulfilled!" He complained. John sighed and turned a page in the newspaper expressionlessly.

"Then you can go take your whining to Lestrade and ask to see Lance Corporal Mahon provided you don't beat him bloody." He recommended. Sherlock gave him an icy glare and pulled the bow over the violin strings absentmindedly. His phone moaned from his pocket, making both John and Madeline jump. The detective pulled out his phone and stared at it for a second. His nose wrinkled in disgust and Madeline guessed it was Mycroft asking if there were any leads on Irene Addler.

"I'm going to Scotland Yard." Sherlock said defiantly, almost like he meant to avoid doing any work for his brother. He gathered his coat and swung it over his shoulders dramatically, then swept out of 221 B.

"It's a miracle. According to Mycroft two years ago he'd have been hooked up to a needle and high on some drug out of frustration with a case." John said, shaking his head. Madeline gave him a surprised look and the doctor chuckled with false humor. "He wasn't always addicted to just cigarettes."

"I love how I can trust you with events you weren't present for, John." Sherlock said as he breezed back into the flat, snatched his scarf and knotted it around his neck. "It's appreciated if you'd not blather about what's passed." He snapped before leaving again. Madeline bit her lip and looked at John, trying to resist the suggestion to laugh that her mania swing was imposing. She wrung her hands and bid John goodbye before heading to her flat and choosing to enjoy her day off.

Madeline spent the rest of her afternoon curled up in her big armchair with a stack of books she'd been meaning to read piled up beside her. A couple hours into her reading Sherry stalked out of the bedroom and indignantly pounced onto Madeline's book with the silent demand that she her owner pet her. Madeline smiled to herself and scratched the cat behind the ears. Sherry didn't purr or show any thanks, she just butted Madeline's palm for more. She just ignored Sherry and went back to reading until the cat crossly made herself comfortable on Madeline's lap, but not before clawing at her legs and stretching.

. . .

Madeline could hear Sherlock ranting as soon as he entered the Baker Street apartments, but she was too comfortable in her chair with Sherry curled up on her lap to go see what he was shouting about. She continued to read, even though Sherlock's voice carried through the floors easily. She could hear bits of his one sided conversation like "flaunted" and "imperfect", but it was the reoccurrence of Jim Moriarty's name that finally made her put her book down and remove a disgruntled Sherry from her lap.

By the time she'd put on socks and slunk up the stairs to 221 B Sherlock's rant was in full swing. Madeline could hear his muffle voice from the stairwell, but when she opened the door it increased in volume.

"And I've missed it! Another one! But why? This one had no military history." Sherlock said, pacing on top of the coffee table while John was quietly typing on his laptop and ignoring him. The detective caught sight of Madeline peering through the door and scowled at her.

"What are you doing here? Go away, I'm busy." He snapped, Madeline eased farther into 221 B and shut the door behind her.

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm not here to see you, Mr. Holmes?" She jibed before walking over and taking a seat in Sherlock's chair.

"Oh come off it," Sherlock growled, although she couldn't tell if he meant for her to get out of his chair or if he was even talking to her at all. He frowned and twisted his hands into his hair before continuing to mutter to himself atop the coffee table.

"Has he been eating?" Madeline whispered to John. He shook his head and looked up from the computer at his flatmate.

"No, and he hasn't showered, either." He said. Sherlock interrupted them with a jubilant whoop and leapt down from the table.

"They're trying to discourage another investigation further into the military's past. They think they can pass it off as a random murder!" He crowed. John gave him a small thumbs up and typed a few more words into his laptop before shutting it and grabbing his coat.

"Hey, mind telling me what happened?" Madeline asked, but Sherlock was already out the door.

"We'll explain it on the way," John said, following his flatmate outside. "Come on." Once inside the cab John explained what had excited Sherlock so much.

"There was another person found hanging with a cleaning rod through their ears- a woman this time." He said. Madeline winced.

"What military rank did she have?" She asked, but Sherlock broke into the conversation.

"None, that's the fascinating part." He said, extending his arm to hail a cab. The three of them piled in and the cab peeled away from the curb. John sat sandwiched between Sherlock and Madeline uncomfortably. "Scotland Yard." Sherlock said gruffly to the cabbie, who nodded and began to drive. Madeline waited impatiently for Sherlock to elaborate, which he had no intention of doing.

"And?" She prompted. He huffed and leaned around John to frown at her. "The woman has had no military involvement, and she's British. You have no involvement here, go back home." He snapped. Madeline folded her arms as the cabbie whistled merrily to drown out the bickering in his backseat.

. . .

The cab pulled to a stop in front of Scotland Yard gently, and Sherlock tossed pence at the driver irately before stepping out and swishing inside. John and Madeline followed him up the stairs, reopening the door the detective had let shut behind him uncourteously. Madeline pulled the door open but it flew out of her grasp. She spun around and saw a young man standing behind her and holding the door. His mouth was curved in a gentlemanly smile, but his eyes looked impatient.

"After you." He said in an American accent. Madeline thanked him and hurried inside, hoping her face wasn't too red and deciding not to comment on his nationality. She followed John and Sherlock to the elevator and waited patiently for the doors to slide shut until a hand shot between them and triggered the opening sensor. The man from earlier stepped into the elevator and made to press a button, but stopped when he saw that John had pressed the same one.

"Cool, so we're going to the same floor." The man said as the doors finally slid together and the elevator jerked upwards. The four of them stood in an awkward silence except for John, who reveled in his flatmate's rare quietness.

"So who are you here to see?" Madeline asked, staring intently at the young man's shoes.

"The police chief here, I've got some things to talk to him about." He responded shortly, indicating the subject was closed.

"The term you meant was Detective Inspector, and that's who we're on our way to see now." Sherlock said a few moments later, randomly pursuing the dropped topic. His blue eyes darted to the man's feet and began to assess him and his posture. Madeline saw his eyes darting back and forth viciously and lightly stepped on his foot. He scowled at her until the elevator doors opened and the stranger stepped outside first. Sherlock, John and Madeline followed.

"Oh, hey Holmes." Lestrade said, stopping short as he passed by the elevator with a bagel hanging out of his mouth and a cup of coffee balanced in his hand. Madeline waved at him and the other man turned around and strode back to them.

"You're the police chief-"

"Detective Inspector." Sherlock interjected.

"Lestrade, right?" The man said, giving Sherlock annoyed glances out of the corners of his eyes. Lestrade raised his free hand in a "present" motion and smiled around the bagel in his mouth in a friendly way. The other man frowned and clasped his hands together behind his back.

"I need to talk with you. It's urgent." He said. Lestrade looked confused for a moment before something clicked inside of his head and he realized something.

"Oh, I get it. You're the Lance Corporal's kid." He said, quickly trying to swallow the remainder of the food and not choke. Madeline and John's heads whipped towards the young man while Sherlock smugly surveyed the ceiling tiles. The stranger couldn't wipe the indignant look of surprise off of his face fast enough though as he turned to face Sherlock.

"He called you Holmes- you're the one who beat my dad!" The detective eyed him irately and frowned.

"You can't blame me. He broke into my flat and ransacked it like a common burglar. I'd expect more from a Lance Corporal." He said flatly. The man looked like he wanted to throw a punch at Sherlock, but he restrained himself and clenched his fists. Sherlock smirked at him.

"Militarily disciplined, I see. You're part of the American army, too. Lestrade, a word." With that the detective stepped inside Lestrade's office and impatiently waited for the owner to follow, then he shut the door loudly behind him.

"I want to see my dad." The young man growled. John quietly shook his head.

"Maybe Lestrade can let you see him or something when he's done talking to Sherlock." He said, gesturing to the couch outside of the office and taking a seat in one of the chairs beside it. The man scowled and sat rigidly on the edge of the couch. Madeline sat on the other end and stared at her feet.

"So what's your name?" She asked quietly. He glared at her but then seemed to soften up a bit.

"Specialist Corey Mahon of the US Eighth Army at your service." He touched his fingers to his temple almost mockingly in a salute before dropping them and letting his eyes harden again. Madeline smiled tepidly at her hands but frowned at the warning John was glinting in her direction.

"That's what I thought." She said finally, interlacing her fingers and stretching her arms in front of her before dropping her hands to her lap. Corey frowned and stared straight ahead, waiting until Sherlock came out of Lestrade's office some time later.

"It's come to light that I have an apology for you." Sherlock said in a slightly miffed tone. "I'm sorry I beat your father about the face with an aerosol can." He added, although his tone belied his words. Corey scoffed slightly and glared at the detective before standing and straightening his clothes.

"I want to see my dad." He demanded, looking around Sherlock at Lestrade. "I need you to take me to him."

"Interesting tone for a soldier." John murmured into his hand, ignoring the glance Corey threw his way. Lestrade nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck before turning and pointing his finger down the hall ahead of him. Corey followed the Detective Inspector with precise, measured steps. Sherlock smirked and began to follow them until Lestrade turned around and waved him down.

"Maybe you shouldn't, Holmes. You've done enough."

"And I need to work." Sherlock retorted smoothly, "I'm going to visit the Lance Corporal, you're welcome to tag along and it's purely coincidental if our visits coincide." With that he pushed his hands into his coat pockets and kept walking. Madeline and John remained seated on the couch as Lestrade shrugged helplessly at Corey and followed after the detective.

. . .

"But what are three Americans doing in England?"

"Apparently Lance Corporal Mahon was taking his son- Specialist Corey Mahon- to a military ceremony for the Eighth Army that General Jacobson would be at. It gave the Lance Corporal an opportunity to get close to the General and make a move." Sherlock explained pointedly. Madeline blinked at him and leaned against the door to her flat.

"Wait, Jacobson was a _general_?" She asked. Sherlock's eyes reached for the ceiling in exasperation.

"Yes, don't you remember?"

"No, you never told us!" John exclaimed from his seat on Madeline's couch. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes again and knitted his fingers together.

"Then you need to pay better attention." He snapped, settling into the big armchair by the window. Madeline frowned and crossed her arms at him.

"So did you bring up the second murder to Lance Corporal Mahon?" She asked, wary of the look Sherlock gave her.

"The Mahons didn't react at all, except the son. He looked shell-shocked that his father would commit murder after retiring from the army." His voice adopted a lofty and mocking tone, and Madeline narrowed her eyes slightly at him.

"Some people are surprised that others can kill so easily. I'd be shocked if I found that out about my dad." She interjected crossly. Sherlock cut his eyes to her snidely.

"Don't start sympathizing with Specialist Mahon. Remember what happens when you mix with people you don't know." He said, implying her failed date with Jim. John frowned and Madeline scowled him but said nothing.

"Back to the case." John prompted, Sherlock ignored him and began to rifle through the kitchen cabinets before pulling out a bag of sugar and multiple glasses.

"You're not doing experiments in my kitchen." Madeline called after him, rushing in when something began to smell like it was burning. Madeline escorted a disgruntled Sherlock Holmes out of her kitchen and assigned him a seat beside John before sitting in her chair and pulling her legs up beneath her.

"So what about the woman who was killed?" John asked. "Was there a wrapper in her pocket too?" Sherlock's miffed look vanished and his brow furrowed.

"No, that's the irritating part. Why would he leave it on Jacobson but not the woman?" He muttered more to himself than to John and Madeline.

"First of all- who was the woman? At least call her by her name." Madeline said, rolling in the rare sane level between her moods.

"She was Anne Deveroux. A florist, apparently." Sherlock said emotionlessly. Madeline looked at her hands and John grimaced.

"So there was no connection to General Jacobson's murder?" He said. Sherlock shook his head and braced his forearms on his knees.

"Other than the murderer himself no. He's flaunting in my face, and Moriarty could very well have given him the information or means by which to kill Mrs. Deveroux and General Jacobson. How, you ask? It's simple-"

"Wait- you said Mrs. Deveroux. She was married?" Madeline interjected. Sherlock gave her a look that conveyed how little he cared for her interruptions and started to continue.

"He still has a network all over-"

"No wait, stop." Madeline said, "Who was she married to?" Sherlock groaned and leaned his head back against the chair.

"To a man named Edward Deveroux. He was a barber who died two years ago of cancer." He said shortly.

"Then what was Anne's maiden name?" Madeline pressed. Sherlock shrugged and closed his eyes for a second in concentration.

"Doyle. Anne Doyle." He said finally. Madeline frowned and bit her lip.

"Okay, so who was she related to?" She asked. Sherlock's eyes darted in a counterclockwise motion a couple of times before he huffed angrily.

"I don't know."

"Really, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know?" Mycroft said from the doorway.

"Halloween has passed, Mycroft you can take the mask off now." Sherlock said, not even bothering to look up at his brother. Mycroft's lip twitched slightly, the only visible sign of his irritation. He turned to Madeline and gave her an unpleasantly polite smile.

"So the little foreigners has picked up deductional skills. He hasn't been teaching you anything, has he?" Mycroft asked kindly, although Madeline felt a small chill sprint up her spine. She shook her head wordlessly, and the older Holmes gave her what he meant as a supportive smile but came across looking strained and empty.

"Good, we don't need another version of him running around." He said.

"Back to the subject at hand, what do you want _now_? You've been turning up excessively and incessantly in the last few months. I've had about all I can take of you." Sherlock snipped.

"I can feel the love rolling off in waves." Mycroft said emotionlessly, splaying his hand across his heart with a cold expression. Madeline blinked back the image or Moriarty facing Sherlock and doing the same motion and tried to swallow the black memories that tried to claw and scratch their way to the surface again.

"I do hope you're funneling your time into locating Miss Addler." Mycroft said to Sherlock. The detective rolled his eyes and groaned childishly.

"I said it before, she can't and won't be found. She'll turn up when she wants to." He snapped. Mycroft exhaled heavily with obvious effort to restrain his irritation.

"Well, it would please my employer if you would at least _try_ to contribute some effort to the case." He retorted with amazing calmness. John gave Madeline a look that entailed how little he wanted to do with the situation. Madeline stood abruptly just as Sherlock jumped to his feet with an angry retort on his tongue.

"So how about you two go get coffee- I mean tea- or whatever and _not_ do this in my apartment? Please?" She asked. Both of the brothers glared at her and John gave her a discreet thumbs up. Mycroft reined in the withering look spread across his face and pressed his thumb and forefinger to each side of his nose.

"We'll be in touch soon, I do hope you'll at least have a lead. And we haven't played chess in a while, maybe a game of that and some tea?" He gave his younger brother a tight-lipped smile and nodded at John, who twitched his hand in a lazy wave. Madeline smiled courteously at the older brother and walked ahead of him to the door leading to her flat.

"We'll let you know when we find something." She said brightly, gesturing to the stairway warmly.

"Touchy," Mycroft muttered with a small smirk as he passed her. No sooner had his feet crossed the threshold than Madeline shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

"I hate it when he shows up." She complained. Sherlock smirked wryly at the door.

"Then that makes at least one of us." He coincided.

. . .

Madeline was dancing and singing loudly to the music ringing through her flat, thoroughly enjoying her day off. She would take a couple of steps and then slide along in her socks and running shorts on the wooden floor, all the while wearing a sweatshirt on top. Sherry was hiding under the bed, hissing and trying to hide from the noise. Madeline kept sliding in her socks and swinging a broom behind her as she gave her best effort at cleaning her flat and didn't notice Sherlock scowling at her until her music cut off. She whirled around and brandished the broom angrily at whomever had disrupted her fun and poked the bristles at Sherlock. He eyed the broom distastefully.

"What was that for?"

"You sound ridiculous." He said snarkily, "And look it, too. I can hear you from upstairs so be quiet." Madeline rubbed one of her sock feet against the other and tugged at her sweatshirt. "We did find leads on Anne Deveroux- if that interests you." Sherlock added before sweeping back upstairs. Madeline quickly hurried after him, still carrying her broom.

"So what did you find out?" She said breathlessly, barging in to 221 B. John looked up at her strange choice of clothes in surprise and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at her nonchalantly.

"Her father was a soldier in the Eighth Army, and he served underneath General Jacobson and Lance Corporal Mahon as a simple soldier." He said.

"Hey, our soldiers are anything but simple." Madeline said in a fierce burst of patriotism. Sherlock rolled his eyes and spun to face her.

"I'm not even going to elaborate to you. You know what I meant." He said crossly. She giggled, still on her mania swing.

"Yeah yeah, just watch it. Most Americans would fling tea at you like holy water or something." She jibed. John snickered from his chair, and Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Madeline laughed and took it farther.

"Be gone, foul creature!" She exclaimed, miming flicking water at the detective. He gave her an exasperated look and showed no emotion. She tapped Sherlock's cheek antagonizingly and received a cold glare in return

"Act your own age." He snapped, swatting her hand away. Madeline frowned at him and flopped onto the couch.

"So what did you find out, anyways." She demanded, crossing her legs over each other and her arms to match.

"I already told you," Sherlock groused. "Her father served in Korea with Jacobson and Mahon. Pay better attention." Madeline frowned and thumped her fists on her knees restlessly.

"And?" She prompted, Sherlock shrugged.

"That's it. That's the connection. You're not going to be able to uncover much more than that," He said. Madeline furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Why not?"

"Because," Sherlock huffed, "That's all Mycroft would entail." Madeline sighed and laid down on the couch, throwing her arms over the armrest above her head.

"He's such a stick in the cement." She complained, inciting John to ask her if she'd had her medicine for the day. She laughed and scolded him for intruding into her business, which the doctor took as a no. Sherlock grimaced at the two of them and grabbed his coat.

"I'm going to the lab," He said shortly, leaving 221 B and shutting the door with a bang. John went back to reading his newspaper, only making the slightest noise when he turned to a new page. Madeline rolled over onto her stomach and stared at the door.

"Well he's a stick in the cement, too." She groused. John chuckled and ignored the need to correct her speech. Madeline huffed and rolled over onto her back again, staring at 221 B's ceiling as she and John waited out the giddy storm swirling through her head.

**A.N.- Well this is interesting. Sir Lance Corporal has a… son.**

**Whelp. That happened.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A.N.- Sorry if this chapter is hastily written, I'm really anxious to get on to my favorite revolution point for the entire story. **

***evil laugh* God, I've been looking forward to it. After this chapter I'll put that up. Whoo!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 20

The feelings of being watched had subsided a little, but Madeline still felt paranoid when walking to work. Every once in a while she would step into Sherlock's lab and see how he was doing, but he mostly ignored her comings and goings. She'd even been losing sleep over the matter, even with Sherlock's nightly violin practices filtering through her ceiling and lulling her mind to sleep.

January was fast approaching, and even though he'd found Lance Corporal Mahon and left him at Scotland Yard a few days ago he hadn't been able to make much progress on the "Candyman Case". (As John's blog eloquently put it.)

Madeline went to work later in the afternoon, trying to see if her sense of being watched dissipated if she went at a different time. Sure enough, she didn't feel any eyes probing her until she turned onto Giltspur Street. She spun all the way around casually and surveyed her surroundings, even though she knew she wouldn't see anyone. She sighed and continued inside St. Bart's, tapping her name into the sign-in computer and continuing through the buildings to her lab.

Madeline dropped her bag to the floor and fished out the key to her lab. She gently placed her binders and folders on the floor beside her bag to free her hands.

"Hey, you're that detective guy's roommate, right?" Someone asked, Madeline turned around quickly and clutched the key like a weapon. Corey Mahon held his hands up in surrender and took a step back.

"Easy, sorry I startled you." He said, Madeline breathed a sigh of relief and continued to unlock her lab.

"It's fine, it's just that I've had- unsavory people surprise me here before." She murmured through gritted teeth. Corey smiled at her and held the lab door open. Madeline picked up her things and hurried into her lab, catching the door with the toe of her shoe and holding it open to invite Corey in.

"And we're not roommates." She corrected him over her shoulder, "We're neighbors." Corey smiled and followed her.

"Your job is…?" He prompted, waiting until Madeline had set her bag down.

"I do genetics and… stuff." She said, hopping onto the counter and beginning to flip through her assignment folder for the day. Corey dug in his pocket for a moment before passing Madeline a stick of gum and smiling at her. She took it after a second and gave him a timid smile in return, tucking the wrapper into her pocket. They chatted mildly for the majority of the afternoon, with Corey leaning against one of the lab tables and Madeline sitting on the counter and completely ignoring her work.

"So the Eighth Army still exists after the Korean War?" She asked. Corey laughed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, we're always ready to deploy specifically into Korea if anything happens again. The army kept the division going strong after the Korean War ended. Not many Americans know about it, though." He said. Madeline smiled at him and dropped her eyes to the folder in her lap.

"Why are you at St. Bart's?" She asked, "I thought your dad was at Scotland Yard." Corey's warm smile melted into an angry frown that made Madeline almost sympathetic for him.

"Actually your neighbor hit him so hard he had a mild concussion. I convinced Lestrade to move him from Scotland Yard, so he's here and recovering from it." He bit out. Madeline winced.

"I'm so sorry, he shouldn't have hit him." She said, feeling like a mother apologizing for her child's errant behavior on the playground. Corey's smile returned and he poked her shoulder playfully.

"You're fine."

. . .

When Madeline got back to Baker Street she dropped her bag in her flat along with the binders and work folders she hadn't worked on all day. She walked up to 221 B and opened the door, only to recoil from the rancid smell of cigarette smoke. Sherlock paced around the room in his blue bathrobe with a cigarette clutched between his fingers. He turned towards Madeline as she slid open the windows in the flat and fanned out the cigarette smoke. She could smell the cigarettes in his breath as he loomed above her. His eyes were bloodshot and he had unattractive dark circles under his eyes that entailed how little he'd slept. Apparently John hadn't returned from the clinic yet.

"No leads on the case?" She guessed. Sherlock's mouth twitched in disdain as he glared at her.

"No. There was another one! Another murder!" He growled.

"What?" Madeline whispered. Sherlock inhaled a deep breath through the cigarette and exhaled the smoke in her face carelessly.

"You heard me. Someone else was killed the same way! That makes three people killed!" Sherlock clenched his teeth around the cigarette and fisted his hands into his hair.

"It makes three of them!" He shouted. Madeline held up her hands and tried to calm him down.

"Who was it?" She asked, trying to banish the bile rising in her throat at the thought of the murder.

"A simple child!" Sherlock snarled. Madeline could feel her eyes widen into saucers in shock.

"A kid?" She repeated softly. Sherlock glared at her from between his hands.

"Did I stutter, Miss Carver?" He snapped. She didn't have time to shake her head before he was off again. "And before you ask- no there is absolutely no connection to the military, American or otherwise. I've already contacted Mycroft and he deigned it a case worthy to be investigated. The boy was eight and his family lived in Sussex, a good two hours from here by train." Madeline said nothing, she was afraid of what she would say. Finally she found her voice.

"So a man, a woman, and a child." She whispered. Sherlock didn't answer her, he continued in his stream of words.

"Mycroft contacted the boy's family. They're absolutely distraught and have been trying to contact me incessantly. Awful working conditions." He growled, dropping his cigarette butt onto the carpet and spinning back towards the fireplace and yanking another cigarette from the box Madeline had given him for Christmas. She noticed that the box was almost empty and briefly debated whether or not to buy the detective more. Sherlock's shout of frustration broke her thoughts and made her realize she was still standing awkwardly in her neighbor's living room.

"It wasn't on purpose! Of _course_ not! The man was desperate and waited for an out to exact revenge on Jacobson for _something_, so he jumped at the chance Moriarty offered him. Gum is a stress reliever, and the sugar in it can satisfy many alcoholics that go through withdrawal after becoming heavy drinkers as a result of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." Sherlock continued to rant at the speed of light, stepping onto and off of the coffee table repeatedly like a looping video then springing to the ground and beginning to pace viciously on the carpet.

"What wasn't on purpose?" Madeline asked him.

"Maybe the son did it." Sherlock said absently, changing subject focus faster than Madeline could blink. She felt an angry feeling bubble in the pit of her stomach that bordered on indignation.

"Corey couldn't have killed the kid! He wouldn't do something like that! And besides, he was with me the entire day!" She said. Sherlock cut his eyes to her mockingly at her words then continued his tirade.

"The sweet wrapper was folded precisely- maybe as a serious calling card, or maybe as a nature of habit from being in the army. Brilliant! I'm getting closer." He seethed. Madeline swiveled to follow him, not sure if he was overjoyed with his revelation or furious. Sherlock looked happy enough working out his deductions and angry with himself for not realizing it sooner. She kept quiet, following the detective's angry pacing motions mechanically.

"But the Lance Corporal had no gum on him! And saliva tests showed he doesn't chew gum, so the wrapper might have been placed as a misleading calling card, or maybe it slipped out on accident." Sherlock ranted, growling and tangling his hands in his hair again. Madeline stood frozen and stared at her feet, unsure of where Sherlock was going.

She carefully dug out the gum wrapper she'd stuffed in her pocket after unwrapping the gum Corey Mahon had given her.

Corey…

She stood abruptly, interrupting Sherlock mid-sentence.

"It wasn't the Lance Corporal, it _was_ his son!" Madeline hated the words as soon as they left her mouth. She brandished the gum wrapper in Sherlock's face and he snatched it from her with two fingers. He reappeared out of the kitchen moments later with a triumphant grin on his face.

"Tea berry gum." He crowed, "It's time we paid a visit to the Mahons, then." Madeline scowled at her hands and folded them together, feeling relieved and traitorous at the same time. When she looked up Sherlock had already left the flat and was hurrying down the stairs. She bolted after him and stopped halfway down the staircase.

"Where are you going?" She shouted after him. He spun around and gave her an incredulous look.

"To interrogate the Mahons." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not while you look like a drug addict in your bathrobe." Madeline countered, instantly regretting her words as soon as she spoke them again. Sherlock gave her a quietly furious look before stomping back up the stairs past her and reappearing out of his flat with a purple button up and black trousers.

"Let's go." He growled, stepping past Madeline and out into the street. She followed behind him uncertainly, biting her tongue to keep herself from being even more insulting.

. . .

Corey was still visiting his father when Sherlock and Madeline reached St. Bart's. Sherlock wasted no time in storming through the doors and throwing the door to the emergency stairs open. He ignored the protests of the nurses in the lobby and darted up the stairway, muttering about the slowness of elevators. Madeline followed him up the stairs until he detoured onto the twelfth floor and sprinted down the hallway. He skidded to a stop in front of a door with "MAHON" scribbled on the board outside the room. He threw the door open and stepped inside, startling Barry and Corey Mahon. Corey's face bent into a scowl as soon as he saw Sherlock, but when Madeline followed after him it warmed into a smile that jumped into a look of confusion in a matter of seconds. Lance Corporal Mahon sat on the bed, eyeing them from the bedside.

"Lance Corporal Mahon I expect an explanation from you and your son." Sherlock said, not even out of breath while Madeline bent over and tried to catch hers. In the blink of an eye Corey pulled a gun from some pocket and swung it around to rest on Sherlock and Madeline.

"These things always end with us at gunpoint." She muttered, Sherlock acknowledged her with a grunt and crossed his arms, kicking the hospital room door closed behind him.

"I've been held at gunpoint before, and I'm still expecting your explanation of three murders." He said. Barry Mahon glared at him and rubbed at his jaw. Corey tightened his grip on the gun's hilt and swung it back and forth like a pendulum between Madeline and Sherlock. She took a timid step forward, but Corey swung the gun to rest on her.

"Corey, did you kill General Robert Jacobson? And did you kill Anne Deveroux? More importantly: did you kill the little boy?" She asked. Sherlock noticed Corey's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of the boy, and his father's did the same.

"A boy was killed?" Corey said softly. "W- how?" Sherlock's eyebrows rose and he stepped forward to explain, but Corey stood and brandished the gun in his direction. Madeline stepped in front of the detective with her hands splayed in front of her.

"Don't. Corey we need to know if you or your dad killed any of those people." She said seriously. Barry Mahon rubbed at his eyes and propped himself up on the bed too easily for someone who had suffered a serious concussion. He looked at Sherlock blankly for a second before his face split into a small smile.

"The Korean War was crazy. We of all people had the worst of it. The Eighth Army took the brunt of the war. And there was one time when we took an entire troop of North Korean soldiers prisoner." Corey sighed and relaxed his arms until the gun dangled by his thigh. Barry gave him a look that said it couldn't be helped and continued.

"I was under General Jacobson at that time, and he made the _brilliant_ decision on the spur of the moment to let the entire damn troop go. All of them!" He said furiously, Sherlock looked at the soldier with zero interest and fought the urge to yawn.

"I was against it. I was against the whole thing from the beginning, but General Jacobson and Cadet Doyle just let them all go." The Lance Corporal growled. "Then they came back. With a whole bunch of other Koreans. They killed almost all of our platoon, and it could have been prevented if General Jacobson and Cadet Doyle would have just listened to me!"

"So you killed them." Sherlock said simply. "General Jacobson and Cadet Doyle's daughter." Corey nodded wordlessly and Madeline glared at him.

"I can't believe you." She said lowly. "How could you do that?" Barry Mahon cut across her angrily.

"Don't you dare talk that way, they slaughtered our group. My friends!" He shouted. Madeline glared at him until she felt something cold in her hand. She stepped away from Sherlock, who was staring the Mahons down emotionlessly and folded her hand quietly around the handcuffs the detective had slipped into her hand.

"So about the child." Sherlock intoned. Corey turned his eyes to the detective and scowled.

"That wasn't us. Dad was here in the hospital thanks to you and I was- here, too." He said, Sherlock snorted.

"Yes, in Miss Carver's lab." Madeline kicked at Sherlock while Corey frowned.

"Don't even bother telling me." Sherlock said, waving his hand in front of his face flippantly. "I already know who did it, but it would have been lovely to have a verbal confession." Corey raised his hand in a lightning motion and fired the gun, making Madeline flinch and duck and Sherlock dodge to the side, the bullet lodged itself in the wall behind them.

"You're a bastard." The Specialist hissed. "You should know we did consider you as a victim." Sherlock stood up again and smiled slightly, and Madeline edged forward a few feet before standing up.

"But of course. Lots of people want to kill me." The detective said snarkily. Madeline nudged him angrily to quiet him. Nurses began to push the door behind them open, but Sherlock casually leaned against it and pushed it closed, locking it firmly.

"I'm not finished talking with you, yet." Sherlock explained simply. "So how did you divvy up the murders? One per or a joint effort altogether?" Madeline cut the detective a glare before turning back to Corey. The Specialist narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock cut across him.

"Actually no wait. Of course not. Your father may have been a strong soldier, but he couldn't have lifted the bodies to the lamp posts alone. He needed someone stronger." He said obnoxiously, "Call it father-son bonding if you will." Sherlock smiled in his strange, strained way at the Mahons as Madeline sprang forward and closed one of the cuffs around Corey's wrist holding the gun. He spun and lashed out with his arm, catching Madeline's forehead above her right eye with the butt of the pistol and shooting the weapon into the wall again on accident. She stumbled backwards as Corey jerked his wrist away from her, but Sherlock nimbly stepped forward and looped the handcuff chain under the rail of the bed before closing the cuff around Corey's other wrist. The detective snatched the gun from the Specialist and swung around to Barry Mahon, who was reaching for a needle from the bedside tray.

"That was rather extravagant." The detective said callously, "Lestrade will love this."

. . .

Luckily they were in a hospital, so nothing much had to be done. Lestrade and his team were already at the hospital room's door by the time Sherlock relented and opened it. Barry Mahon was escorted quietly out of the hospital in handcuffs, while Corey fought and scratched like a wild animal. It had taken two officers to subdue him and he continued to struggle until Sherlock threateningly tapped the back of his head with the muzzle of the gun. Then he proceeded to the waiting police cars and jail cell quietly.

One of the nurses had Madeline sit on the edge of the Lance Corporal's bed while she disinfected the cut on her forehead. Sherlock stood innocuously by the door and scowled until Madeline noticed him.

"What's up with that face? You look like you ate a lemon." She jibed once the nurse had left, but the withering look he gave her extinguished the small resistance she'd put up against her oncoming swing. Madeline sighed, took her medicine bottle out of her pocket, and dumped two of the sky blue pills into her hand. She took a deep breath and threw the pills into her mouth, shuddering at the rancid taste they left as she swallowed them.

"Should have taken them with water." She muttered until a thin plastic cup appeared in the corner of her vision, held by Sherlock. Madeline gingerly took the cup and chased the pills down with its contents.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." She said afterwards, tossing the cup into the waste bin by the bed. Sherlock ignored her and crossed his arms, scowling at the floor tiles.

"So your head," He said suddenly, "You're not bleeding anymore?" Madeline touched the pink band aid the nurse had applied to the spot above her eye tenderly. It was sore and the skin had split open but the bleeding had stopped. She shook her head silently and waited for the detective to initiate a conversation.

"That's- good." He coughed, Madeline smiled at him faintly.

"It's not like I'm going to have an aneurism. We're in a hospital, and I don't think Corey hit me hard enough for a concussion." Her voice trailed off when she thought of Corey. She felt immensely guilty for bringing him to light, but then again she was furious with him for murdering the people. Madeline tried to swallow the rolling waves of disgust that were aimed at herself as well for even trusting the Specialist in the first place.

"Don't dwell on it too much," Sherlock snapped, "You always seem to have rotten luck with people." Madeline looked up from her hands to snap back at him but he was already gone. She sighed and decided just to catch a quick cab home.

. . .

"So long story short you had a standoff in a hospital room." John muttered incredulously, rubbing his temples roughly. "I can't believe you, Sherlock. And Madeline got hit!"

"Not by a bullet." She interjected from her kitchen. John cut his eyes to her warily.

"It was still dangerous. And couldn't you have waited for me to get back from the clinic?" He continued. Sherlock had on the most apathetic face imaginable as he rode out his flatmate's anger. Finally he stood from the chair and spread his hands like he was going to stop a train.

"We're fine, you don't have to act like a hen. Lestrade also gave us the update on the Mahons' interrogations." He said, pulling out his phone and scrolling through various items until he found the message from the Detective Inspector.

"Holmes, both the Mahons confessed to the murders. All except the last one. The gum wrapper was just an accident that fell into Jacobson's pocket and we still don't have any leads on that kid." Sherlock read out, sighing as he scrolled farther down the screen. "They're being deported back to America apparently so you don't have to worry about strangers with sweet wrappers anymore, Miss Carver." He summarized. Madeline stared at the detective with her mouth hung open and tried to ignore the pointed look John was giving her.

"But what about the boy?" She said, following Sherlock around as he strode to her bookshelf and perused her books and ignored her. Madeline growled in frustration and pushed his shoulder so that he spun to face her.

"Don't you dare ignore me on this, Sherlock. We technically didn't solve the case of the Boy in the Box all the way, and I'm not going to let this one slide. If the Mahons didn't kill him then who did?" She snapped. Sherlock's expression mirrored John's for a moment, surprised and a little off guard.

"Well?" She said, realizing she'd backed the detective into a bookcase again and stepping away. Sherry stalked out of the bedroom with her tail twitching agitatedly behind her. All three of them watched the cat until Sherlock broke the silence.

"I know who it was, but the ability to do anything about it is completely out of my power." He said. Madeline crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Is that so?" She said. Sherlock's eyes narrowed angrily and John stood from his chair, ready to diffuse a fistfight.

"Yes that's so." The detective bit out. "You should be a little more grateful, I saved your life _again_ today." With that he stepped past Madeline deftly and breezed out of her flat. Madeline spun and watched him go, still livid. John shook his head and held his hands up.

"I'm going to try and talk to him. Do you think you could have been a little less harsh? All the deaths really do bother him sometimes. It's not like he doesn't care." He said. Madeline opened her mouth for an angry retort but shut it quickly.

"I- yeah, okay." She said feebly, feeling all of her anger diffuse as quickly as it had appeared. John smiled at her faintly before leaving for upstairs. Madeline collapsed into her armchair, which was still uncomfortably warm from where John had been sitting. Sherry paced back and forth in front of her anxiously, mewling for attention. Madeline hauled the cat into her lap and stroked it absently while Sherry curled up and began to purr against Madeline's chest.

There was no violin music that night.

**A.N.- So the views and reviews are going down… that means I have to pull something big to get people over here.**

**Luckily the plot is lining up perfectly for this.**

**All hail the next chapter- TRUMP CARD. Thanks for your support guys, hope you enjoyed it. ^_^**


	21. Chapter 21

**A.N.- Does anyone listen to 2ne1? Anybody? No? Okay.**

**Guest- All in good time. He's slowly getting more open and kind. My mission is to make you guys hate me and beg me for the fluff, then let the tear/ fluff dams flow. XD Soon.**

**Shadajoserj- Thanks, I actually considered taking a break from this story for a while. (Knowing me that means I'd never finish it. TAT) I'm glad you think it's good, I thought I was skewing waaay offline with Sherlock's personality and him being nice but it's good to know I'm on the right track. I kind of want to one for Loki or something next. I'm not really into TV that much, actually but damn those British men I've just got to write about 'em. (I'm a HUGE movie nerd, though.)**

**I hereby present to you what you've all wanted deep down inside:**

**The Fall… of Riechenbach.**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 21

Sherlock was ignoring Madeline, and she couldn't blame him. He didn't like giving up on a case in the first place, either out of concern for the victims or for his ego or possibly even both. Madeline had crept back to 221 B the next day to apologize for her outburst, but the detective wasn't there. John told her he was at his lab and wouldn't be back until later, so she slunk back to her flat defeatedly. As soon as she heard the front door open and close she skidded into the hallway only to see that it was Mrs. Hudson. The landlady noticed the disappointment on her tenant's face and invited her in for tea; an invitation that Madeline graciously accepted.

"It's alright, dear. Almost nobody can get through something without having a spat with Sherlock. Even he and John have their lover's spats sometimes." Mrs. Hudson said kindly as she handed Madeline a warm teacup with a matching saucer.

"I don't think they're gay." Madeline said innocently before taking a small sip of the tea and trying not to choke on its bitterness. Mrs. Hudson "m-hmmed" in the back of her throat and set her tea down.

"Dear, perhaps you should just leave him alone for a bit. Sherlock may not look like it but he does mind." She consoled, Madeline stared at the murky tea in her lap quietly.

"Yeah, John said the same thing too." She said finally. Mrs. Hudson sat back and folded her arms contentedly,

"Then you know you're getting some good advice." She said kindly. Madeline gave her a small smile and left for the convenience store on the corner. When she returned half an hour later she bumped into Sherlock who was coming into Baker Street at the same time. He scowled at her and pushed the door open, waiting for Madeline to go in first; but she waited and held up a brand new pack of cigarettes between her fingers.

"Sorry. I um, overreacted a little bit." Madeline said, trying to tear her gaze from her shoelaces and muster enough courage to look Sherlock in the eye. He was quiet for a second before he grabbed the pack of cigarettes and stuffed them in his pocket before sniffing "You think?" and catching the door as it began to swing shut again and shoving it open with his foot. Madeline bit her lip and trudged past him back to her flat.

"And I suppose I have cause to be apologetic as well." Sherlock said stiffly to her back. She turned around and raised her eyebrows until he continued. "I do know who killed the boy, but I'm not certain if I can do much about it or bring the killer to justice. That's what I had meant to convey." The detective added. Madeline took slow, measured steps back to Sherlock and studied him cautiously. He assessed her as well and fought the primal urge to run when he saw her pupils dilate slightly. Madeline stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheekbone, then dropped back to her heels.

"Thanks for telling me that," She said, "I felt really bad for blowing up at you, and for the record it was kind of hard to stay mad afterwards." With that she smiled at him sadly and turned back to her flat. "Don't smoke those in front of John or he'll shoot both of us." Sherlock stuck his hand in his coat pocket and ignored her, turning the pack of forbidden cigarettes in his pocket agitatedly before continuing upstairs. Madeline smiled after him slightly and returned to her apartment, nodding at the enthusiastic thumbs up Mrs. Hudson gave her from her own doorway.

. . .

"What's gotten into you?" John asked, "You're all sullen and happy at the same time. Like some weird kind of mopey puppy." Sherlock glared at his flatmate and bent over the soil samples he was evaluating on the kitchen counter.

"Nothing has 'gotten into me'. You're being ridiculous." He retorted, John sniggered behind his laptop and rolled his eyes.

"Right, of course. Excuse me, sir for seeing the obvious." The doctor retorted. Sherlock scoffed and hovered an eyedropper over the petri dishes.

"Ooh you're a bloody awful liar." John said, blowing air out from his cheeks like a deflating balloon. Sherlock sighed, laid the eyedropper meticulously on the counter and closed his eyes in exasperation.

"When you're blithering I can't think." He snapped. John held his hands up mockingly and spun the computer around.

"No offense meant, then. Here, there are some cases on the blog if you want to take them." He suggested. Sherlock frowned at him and turned back to his experiment.

"I have no need of a case right now. I'm busy with other things." He said absentmindedly, John eyed him suspiciously.

"Did you and Madeline ever make up? She did actually feel pretty bad about yesterday." He said.

"Yes, she seemed remorseful enough." Sherlock murmured, endeavoring to shut his flatmate up. John smiled in a self-satisfied way and went back to typing absentmindedly until something soft brushed against his legs and startled him. Sherry mewled impatiently at his feet and begged to be petted.

"Hey you." Madeline said from the doorway, ducking under the table and pulling her purring cat into her arms. John was impressed.

"Less than a month and she's already warmed up to you." He said approvingly. Madeline stroked the cat's head and bounced her in her arms.

"Miss Carver, if you could bring me a sample of the thing's hair." Sherlock called. John caught sight of Madeline's small smile as she spun to face the detective and replaced it with an false frown.

"The thing has a name." She said pointedly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Wonderful, bring me its fur." He said again. Madeline frowned and slowly walked to the kitchen, peering over Sherlock's shoulder at his petri dishes.

"That doesn't look like it requires cat fur, Mr. Holmes." She said snarkily. He scoffed and crossed his arms, leaning back from the counter out of boredom.

"Of course not. It's for a future experiment." He retorted. She sighed and gently petted Sherry, who purred against Madeline's chest in response. Then Madeline flicked her hand at Sherlock and released the collection of cat hairs that had gathered in her hand onto his trousers. He scowled and brushed at the hairs irately while she smiled sweetly back at him and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Oh my God, I've got to get to work!" She complained, bidding her neighbors goodbye and racing from the flat with Sherry mewling in her arms from the jaunty movement. Sherlock watched her leave until John cleared his throat loudly. The detective scowled at him before pulling out his phone and standing to grab his coat.

"Hold on, where are you going?" John called after his flatmate, Sherlock turned and typed a few errant words into his phone before stuffing it into his pocket.

"I'm going to find who killed that boy." He said emotionlessly. John frowned at him.

"You said you already said you knew who killed him." The doctor reminded him. Sherlock's expression didn't change at all.

"Yes I do know. Now I'm going to find them." He said shortly before wrapping his scarf around his neck and turning his coat collar up against the bitter afternoon cold outside.

. . .

No sooner had Sherlock left the flat than his phone moaned erotically and alerted him to a message. He quickly pulled the device from his pocket and opened the message.

_**Anytime you are**_, it read. He scrolled up a bit to review his message that he had sent first.

_**Ready for a proper interrogation? –SH **_

His phone moaned again, making people passing Sherlock on the sidewalk give him odd glances.

_**And by interrogation I hope you mean dinner. ;P**_

The message read. Sherlock scowled at the cheap emoticon and typed an address into the phone's screen and hit send before pocketing the device and setting out on foot at a brisk pace.

The detective wrinkled his nose at the ruined building he stood in front of. It was filthy and decrepit, but it was one of the first places that came to mind when he thought of somewhere solitary to meet.

"Ugh, this place is disgusting." Irene said, stepping daintily around glittering fractals of glass on the cement. Sherlock turned and smirked at her coldly.

"You're wearing the appropriate amount of clothing for once. Bravo." He jabbed. Irene crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip sassily.

"Well I can say this isn't where I thought you'd want to meet me. Although anywhere with you is fine with me." She said, winking at the detective. Sherlock frowned and fully turned to face her, Irene was wearing a long coat over black slacks and a simple white blouse- a far cry from her more mischievous attire.

"So you solved a new case, I see." Irene said, cutting across Sherlock before he could speak. "All the tabloids and papers are running you in the headlines again." She inspected her fingernails for chips in the polish out of boredom.

"Almost all of it. A child was killed as well, and I know who had a hand in it." Sherlock said, glaring pointedly at Irene. She pressed her hand to her collarbone with a wounded expression.

"Me? Never. I'd never hurt a child." She scoffed, taking a bold step forward and reaching for Sherlock's cheek but he stepped away. "You on the other hand are an entirely different matter." The woman said sultrily. "I'd file my nails on those cheekbones of yours." Sherlock's frown deepened and turned into an irritated scowl.

"I know you didn't, but your employer did." He said, "How did he deal with your information leaking, by the way? You seem to be on kindly terms with him again." Sherlock added snarkily. Irene's smile grew wider as she crossed her arms again.

"Whatever made you think I was _leaking_ information? I told you he wasn't happy with me telling you where Doctor Watson and you _neighbor _were, but he was dissatisfied with the dinner bill you left me with." She said cheekily. "Reimbursement might be on the agenda sometime soon." Sherlock gave the woman a cold glare and began to turn back the way he'd come. Irene smirked at the detective's back as he took long, deep strides over the cement back towards central London before remembering something.

"Mr. Holmes- what is this place?" She called after him. Sherlock turned back around with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth precariously and scowled at her.

"An old drug den I used to frequent. I'm not keen to meet with strange people without reinforcements from the shadows." He said a little smugly. "Thank you for your information." With that he turned and continued to walk back towards town. Irene cast a quick look around herself and shuddered before picking her way back across the littered pavement to the car she'd taken to the location.

. . .

_**It's about time we played again, don't you think? –JM**_

Sherlock's phone read out. Sherlock paused from disposing of the now mildly radioactive soil samples he was disposing of through the garbage disposal and texted the criminal back.

_**Give me a time and a place. –SH**_

It took Moriarty a few seconds to respond, by that time Sherlock had discreetly emptied almost all of the soil samples into the drain while John talked to a patient on the phone in the living room.

_**Impatient. Just wait, we'll work out a time for your busy schedule. –JM**_

Sherlock didn't respond to the text. He had a vague sense Jim was mocking him and decided to leave the matter be. He saw the curtains in the living room flutter from the temperature change and strained to hear how heavy the footfalls on the stairs were and discern who was coming upstairs. To his satisfaction they were light but shuffling, not like his brother's sure, heavy footfalls. A couple minutes later Madeline trudged into the flat and dropped her bag by the door. She threw her coat onto the coatrack and collapsed onto the couch with a groan facedown.

"This is what happens when I miss work too often." She complained into the cushion. John shrugged at her helplessly and went back to his conversation with his client. Madeline pushed herself off of the couch and shuffled into the kitchen to peer over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Are you still messing with the dirt?" She asked, "Or do you need some cat fur?" Sherlock cut his eyes to her in annoyance and she backed away with a smile.

"I know it's a long stretch, but do you guys have anything in the fridge to eat? I haven't had anything since earlier this morning before requests came flying in." She said.

"There might be some milk." Sherlock said, jerking his shoulder towards the refrigerator to his left. Madeline opened the door and held her breath, rummaging through all the experiments preserving or decomposing on the racks until she pulled out a carton of milk. She glanced at the label and groaned.

"Sherlock this expired last May." She said.

"Your point?" He responded absently, focusing on getting the rest of his experiment down the drain before John walked into the kitchen.

"It's _January_." Madeline said pointedly. Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly and kept funneling radioactive dirt into the garbage disposal,

"It doesn't affect me."

"Yeah because you don't eat." They continued to banter back and forth while John tried his best to ignore their squabbling in the background of his call.

. . .

Sherlock decided to go to St. Bart's to work in his lab the next day. John had thoroughly been enjoying his day off and had slept the majority of the morning, and Sherlock had heard Madeline swearing as she stumbled around her flat and left for Bart's before the sun rose. He waited until around noon before he grabbed his coat and scarf and left for the hospital. When he reached the threshold of the hospital he pulled out his phone.

_**Come and play, roof of St. Bart's. I've got something you want. –SH**_

He pocketed his phone wordlessly. Soon his phone moaned, Irene's moan.

_**Something I want? Do tell. I'm waiting, oh hero. –JM**_

Sherlock grimaced at the text and sent another message to one of his few contacts.

_**Come to St. Bart's. Be careful.-SH **_

He sent it and replaced the phone into his pocket, not even waiting for the person to reply. The detective took long, almost harried strides down the pristine white halls of the hospital. He slowed down when he reached the floor Madeline's lab was on. He could hear her humming to herself as she knocked things around while she worked; but he forced himself to continue onwards past the door and up another couple flights of stairs. Jim was already waiting for him.

"Good afternoon, brave hero." The criminal snickered. "It's come to light you have something I want? Funny, because I didn't know I was in want of anything in the first place." Sherlock squared his shoulders and walked closer to Moriarty.

"I'm not quite sure what you're on about." The detective countered. "You've got me."

. . .

"Three gunmen." Moriarty whispered, "Three bullets. Nothing's going to stop them unless they see you jump." Sherlock teetered on the edge of the roof, a million thoughts racing through his head. Moriarty stamped one foot on the cement and grinned.

"Maybe I could call them off." The criminal said, "Miss Carver's inside working away underneath our feet, and something tells me somebody _else_ will be here soon. Maybe I should just blow up the hospital, that way everybody dies!" He sang. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in a quiet fury, and Jim leaned back with his hands in front of him defensively.

"Whoa, okay maybe not. It'll be better anyways to give them the time to appreciate the bullet entering them and only them. Maybe we could attach a note to the bullets: "_Love, Sherlock"_. That sounds nice, doesn't it? Oh, or maybe engrave them! But engraved bullets," He blew air out of his cheeks exasperatedly. "Who has time for that? This is now." Moriarty's voice lowered to a devious tone, unveiling the madman just beneath the surface.

"Time's running out, Sherlock." He cooed. "Make a choice, or my men will make it for you. And I'm sure you don't want to live in a world without your damsel and your blogger."

"Belt up," Sherlock growled, still with one foot on the ledge. He spun around and placed both feet firmly on the ground, facing his sworn enemy.

"They're your gunmen." He said lowly, "They obey you, so what's going to stop you from giving them the green light to shoot my friends after I've jumped?" Moriarty sighed then giggled, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"There you go, you've said it again! You said "friends". Sherlock- honey- you have no 'friends'." He said mockingly. "You've just got me, and I can bet you money I'm the only exciting outlet you've got." Sherlock smirked at him patronizingly,

"How about I bet you three gunmen you're wrong." The criminal frowned at the detective and stepped back.

"You're running out of time." He sang. "Better choose."

"How will they know?" Sherlock said, choosing his words carefully. "How will they know not to shoot?"

"Oh come on, Silly- isn't it obvious? I'll tell them myself." Jim gave a little mock bow, but Sherlock grimaced at him.

"That's absurd. I don't trust you." He said, Jim groaned.

"Sherlock, you've made the game so boring!" He whined. "You're actually caring for people, now! And it's making everything less appealing!" His voice rose to a furious shout before dropping back to a sweetly irritating tone. "You've dulled yourself down; and it's so disappointing to see someone fall so far into _humanity_." Moriarty wrinkled his nose in disgust. Sherlock took one step forward until he and Jim were chest to chest.

"Then make it. More. Interesting." He said coldly. Moriarty shrugged and gave him a malicious smile tinged with madness.

"Okay." He quickly pulled a pistol from his coat and enveloped the muzzle in his mouth. The criminal winked at Sherlock before pulling the trigger. Sherlock couldn't stop the shout that tore itself from his throat as he leapt away from Jim and a brilliant spurt of red jumped from the back of the world's only consulting criminal's skull. He resisted the urge to kick the man's body as blood pooled behind him on the roof and instead ran his fingers through his hair to try and conjure a new plan.

_Now there is no calling them off._ He thought angrily. The detective dug out his phone and dialed the first number in his contact list out of the few listed at all. After a few rings they picked up.

"Hello?"

"John, I need you to listen to me." Sherlock said, trying to keep his voice calm and collected.

"Sherlock, where are you? I got your text. Come and talk to me, you can't just walk off like that, you know." John said angrily. "What were you thinking, all the problems would just go away if you walk out the door? That's not-"

"John." Sherlock cut across him. His flatmate fell silent on the other end, listening. "I need you to call Miss Carver for me, quickly."

"What, why? Why would- Sherlock!" The detective saw a cab pull away from the curb, leaving the doctor standing in its place. "What are you doing up there, come down!" John shouted into the phone, although Sherlock could barely hear him from the roof.

"Just call her, please." He said desperately, hating the way his voice was wavering. John wordlessly transferred his flatmate to hold and dialed into his phone before putting it to his ear and speaking rapidly into it.

"She's coming, Sherlock." John said once he reinstated their connection. "What the hell are you doing up there? Come down!" Sherlock shook his head wordlessly before finding his voice again.

"I can't."

. . .

Madeline swung around the banisters in the stairway. The elevator was too slow.

_Come quickly,_ John had said. _It's Sherlock. I'm right outside of Bart's._ She burst out the front door and saw her neighbor standing in the street and staring at the sky.

"John," She panted, "What- what's wrong, where's Sherlock?" The doctor pointed at the roof of the building she had just left. She felt her eyes widen.

"What's he doing up there?" She gasped, "Sherlock!" She shouted. John transferred his call to speakerphone so she could hear.

"_-arver and John. Sorry about this, almost an impromptu departure."_ Sherlock's voice crackled through the phone, mangled with static.

"Sherlock, why are you up there, come down." Madeline said, feeling a nagging sensation in the back of her mind. She'd envisioned this before, but it was her at the roof staring down into the streets and not one of her friends.

_"I can't come down, we're going to have to do it this way." _His voice said. _"I need to apologize."_

"For what?" Madeline said, latching onto John's wrist and pulling the phone closer to her face. "For what Sherlock? What are you doing!"

"_I need you to listen to me. This is how I'm going to do this."_

"Do what? Sherlock stop it, you're scaring me." She said, hoping to coax him down.

_"Sorry."_ Madeline hit her thigh with her fist furiously.

"And stop apologizing! It's not you! Come down here and quit it!" She shouted.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John said lowly into the phone. There was a moment of silence before his flatmate answered.

_"I'm leaving a note, John._" The doctor saw Madeline's face pale as her grip on his arm released and she ran forward.

_"No! Stay right there, Madeline!" _Sherlock's voice boomed, stopping her in her tracks. She stared at him on the roof, only a few floors from her own lab. If only she had gone up instead of down...

_"Now back up." _Sherlock demanded, _"Do it, now!"_ Madeline unwillingly retraced her steps back to John's side, feeling the numbness begin to eat at the edge of her heart and tears slink into her eyes, robbing her of her vision.

"No, no." She whispered, "No, please don't do this. I can't- you can't leave. Don't do this, please!" She'd wanted someone to tell her those same words for so long, and now she was repeating them to someone who was trying to take a chisel to her soul.

_"I have to, I mean- that's what normal people do, isn't it? You'd know all about being normal." _Sherlock said, trying to laugh; but it sounded more like he was choking up.

"Sherlock, stop it. Come down here. Please." John pleaded, but his flatmate shook his head.

"Sherlock." Madeline whispered, "Please don't."

_"I'm sorry, but I can't. It has to be done this way."_ Sherlock said quietly, letting a little bit of remorse bleed into his voice. Madeline felt the emptiness grow bigger, enveloping her heart and starting to attack her lungs.

"Sherlock!" She shouted into the phone. "Please, if you do this then- then I'll never forgive you!" She waited two whole seconds before he replied.

_"Then you'll have to."_ With that he dropped his phone and spread his arms out like he could touch the edges of the sky. Madeline felt the cold strike her bones as Sherlock tilted his face up and slowly leaned forwards.

"Sherlock!" She screamed,

"No!" John shouted.

And he fell. Ever so slowly.

Madeline tried to take steps forward, to run to him; but it was like her legs were in clay. She couldn't move fast enough before he disappeared behind a maintenance building and she heard a hideous crack that resonated throughout her entire system.

Then she could move.

She took lurching, uneven steps towards the building at a run; trying to make it in time. She looked behind her and saw that John had been knocked over by a cyclist, but it didn't matter. She had to move. Madeline rounded the corner precariously and had to push her way through the people already surrounding Sherlock.

"Let me through, you have to let me through!" She shouted at them. Some of the people gave way, and Madeline was able to fall through between them.

Sherlock Holmes lay face up on the cold cobblestones, blood bled into a grid underneath him and matted his curly hair to his head. His face was pale, and when Madeline touched him she could feel the warmth already fading from his skin.

She couldn't remember a time when there had been so much emptiness.

"Sherlock!" She screamed at the rooftops, trying to wake the man up. He just lay there limply while she shook his shoulder futilely. John pushed his way through the crowd moments later and fell to his knees beside her. He reached to take Sherlock's pulse immediately but drew back his hand with his face white as a sheet.

"Sherlock, no." He murmured. "No, no, no." Madeline knelt beside him, stunned and comatose. She still rocked Sherlock's body uselessly, but her mind was elsewhere.  
_On the roof. He was on the roof. I could have gotten to him._ She thought as her mind began to flash.

_"Watch where you're going."_

_ "You watch it."_

Paramedics rushed out of the hospital with a stretcher. Strong arms pushed Madeline and John back as they rolled Sherlock's limp body over and loaded him onto the cart. His pale blue eyes were open, but vacant; void of the intensity that had made them so mesmerizing. Madeline's heart broke.

"Oh my God, Sherlock. No, no Sherlock, no." She mumbled as the paramedics pushed them away from Sherlock and wheeled him into the hospital. Madeline lurched forward suddenly, but it was John who pulled her pack.

"Let him go, Madeline. He's dead." He whispered into her hair. She shook her head and pressed her face into the doctor's shoulder, violent sobs racking her body. A couple of John's tears leaked down his face and mingled into his shirt as he stepped into the street to hail a cab.

. . .

The whole ride back to Baker Street Madeline rode in silence, staring at the red permanently stained into her hands. Sherlock's blood coated the creases of her palms and the junctures of her fingers. A hideous color that needed to be replaced. John looked blankly out the windows at the buildings stepping by in tan blurs. He couldn't be gone. There was just no way. One didn't simply kill Sherlock Holmes.

As they walked up the stairs John had to answer an onslaught of questions from Mrs. Hudson, who kept asking why Sherlock wasn't with them. Madeline made a beeline for her apartment while John tried to assuage the older woman. After hearing the news Mrs. Hudson collapsed like a punctured balloon with a wail, and John helped her up the stairs to 221 B.

He half expected Sherlock to be shooting boredom holes in the wall or reclining in his chair apathetically when the door swung open; but the flat was empty. Mrs. Hudson sank onto the sofa with a small cry and buried her face in her hands. John stepped into the bathroom to try and wash the small splotches of his friend's blood from his hands. He noted it wasn't as much as Madeline had had on hers, but then again she had been cradling Sherlock's head and trying to wake him up.

_Madeline._ He thought with a jolt, rushing from the bathroom and taking the steps two at a time down to 221 C. He tried to open her door but it was locked.

"Madeline!" He shouted, "I need you to come out here, please! Right now!" He heard no answer, so the doctor took a step back and landed a kick by the doorknob; breaking the lock and throwing the door open.

John raced into Madeline's flat, but he didn't see her. He rushed through her rooms until he found her in the bedroom lying on the bed. Her face was pallid, starkly contrasting with the red staining the sheets and comforter underneath her.

"Mrs. Hudson!" John shouted, "Call an ambulance!" He quickly turned his attention to his neighbor and pulled up her sleeves. They were marred with only a few cuts, but one of them on each arm was strategically placed on the inside of her wrists and was deep with the intent to kill. John quickly began to rip the sheets into strips of cloth and wrap them around Madeline's wrists. Her breathing was shallow, but at least she was still alive. John waited with her for a few more minutes until he heard an ambulance's siren cut down the street. He gingerly scooped his neighbor into his arms and carried her to the entrance of the building, where paramedics were trying to unload a stretcher from the back of their vehicle.

"No time." John panted, giving Madeline's body to one of them and climbing into the back; muttering assurances of "I'm a doctor" to the medical staff. The ambulance doors swung shut and the vehicle began to race back down the streets towards St. Bart's. The paramedics put Madeline on a respirator and took a small sample of her blood before hooking her up to a fluid IV and inserting a blood transfusion into the crook of her arm. John did what he could to help them but in the end wound up sitting uselessly on the bench inside the ambulance watching the mouthpiece of the respirator fog up and clear itself slightly every few seconds or so. The doctor put his face in his hands and shook his head in denial.

"This can't be happening," He muttered, "It just can't."

. . .

Everything was wobbly and punctuated with glares of light. Madeline had to be under constant supervision so that she wouldn't make another attempt at suicide again. After two bags of blood transfusions into her arm and ugly black stitches covered by butterfly band aids on her wrists Madeline finally began to regain consciousness. Someone tall and dark was sitting by her bed, and she could feel her lips bend into a soft smile at his presence.

"Sherlock," She murmured. He turned, and Madeline blinked to clear her vision. She was a little disappointed to see John by her bed instead, and the tormented look on his face made her want to squirm with guilt and self-hatred.

"Not quite." He said quietly. The words hung in the air tensely for a few seconds before John spoke again. "Why did you do that? This, I mean." Madeline tried to raise her hand and apologize, but something stopped her. She jerked her hand up, but something was restraining it. She craned her head down until she saw a thick plush band of white wrapped around each of her forearms, restricting movement. She began to panic, jerking her wrists violently to try and loosen the straps; but John caught the arm nearest him firmly and pressed it to the bed.

"Stop." He demanded, "I'll have to call the doctors in if you don't." Madeline stopped struggling, although her chest still rose and fell in uneven, rapid breaths. Tears pushed their way into her eyes as she remembered what had happened.

"Sherlock." She whispered, "He-"

"I know." John replied mournfully, trying to keep his voice steady even though the images of Sherlock lying spread eagled on the pavement in a pool of his own blood flashed through his mind in torrents of pain. "I don't understand how he could just leave us!" He growled, slamming his hand on the bed sheets with a thud. Madeline turned her head to the side to hide her tears as they sat in silence again. After a second she felt the strips on her wrists being loosened; and as soon as the cloth left her skin she bolted upright and wrapped her arms around John's neck, not caring about the needle in her arm tugging painfully at her skin or the dizziness from moving so fast.

"Why?" She sobbed quietly, "Why would he do that? It's not something Sherlock would do!" John gently put his hands on her back cautiously.

"I don't know. Something must've happened." He said thickly, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat. "Something must've made him have to jump. He wouldn't have done it otherwise." Madeline shook her head wordlessly against the doctor's shoulder, biting her lip so hard she thought she'd bite clean through it.

"I- just _why_. _Why_?" She cried, letting her tears soak into John's shirt and the bed sheets.

"I don't know." John repeated. "I don't know."

. . .

The funeral was short. Solitary, too. Only Lestrade, Molly Hooper, Mycroft, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Madeline attended. Nobody could clearly read the inscription on the ebony tombstone, their eyes were too clouded by tears- excepting the older Holmes brother. He stood a ways away from the group of mourners with his umbrella hooked respectfully around his forearm. There were no gaudy processions, so the procession ended quickly. Everyone stepped forward to say something about the detective, but found that there wasn't much to say about him. Until John stepped up.

"He was amazing. Sure he could be a… jerk; but he meant well. Sherlock- I don't know why you left, but we miss you. All of us. And I- I don't really know what else to say." He stepped back from the detective's grave silently and was enveloped by his friends. They asked Madeline if she wanted to say a few words; but she shook her head silently and tugged her sleeves farther down. John had convinced the hospital to discharge her in time for the funeral, but only on the condition that Madeline remain under constant supervision and severe medication. The past week had felt like she was floating in a murky water that deafened all sound and emotion. She could feel the anguish clawing at her insides, but it didn't hurt as much as she expected. She attributed that to the medicine.

John wouldn't let Madeline go back to her apartment. He wouldn't even let her leave his sight. He made sure she took her newer and heavier medications three times a day and even went so far as to remove all sharp objects from 221 B and C. Madeline said nothing, she just curled up in Sherlock's chair apathetically- sometimes with a book- and would stare at her wrists, sleep, or cry. John knew she blamed herself for Sherlock's death. He blamed himself, as well. He could have told her to go to the roof and stop him; and Sherlock would've listened. Baker Street sat in an ominous silence while the newspapers and tabloids clicked outside and ran articles screaming: "_**Fraud Detective Gives Up the Hard Way" **_or "_**London Will Mourn Sherlock Holmes"**_.

Either way, Baker Street was silent in the absence of its detective.

**A.N.- Mwahahah. I am so sorry but so not sorry.**

**This is probably the longest chapter here, and sorry if there are some plot holes. (I don't see any, but it feels too good to be perfect.) **


	22. Chapter 22

**A.N.- You thought it was over! Silly mortals, you should know I'm a hopeless romantic and a stickler for happy endings. I'd never do that to you! (I actually did consider it but…)**

**maddQueen- Don't worry, the story isn't over yet. And please God no! I'm extremely ticklish! (Wonder if Sherlock is, too…) Don't worry, I cry everytime I watch the Fall. If you didn't cry then you have no soul.**

**Shadajoserj- Thanks, you are so very kind to me! And whoa hold up a sec- who said there won't be anymore Jim? Is my roommate leaking rumors? Cause that isn't true at all. XD Spoilers…. And hey what do you think about a King Kong fic or a Back to the Future one? I already did Jurassic Park. Twice. (I'm an oldies movie kind of person.)**

**Em- Thank you thank you thank you! Kudos for blowing through this in two days! (Like a boss, might I say.) Not so sure about SherlxOC… it could always be JimxOC or something… eh. Mary won't interact with John too much, I'm afraid she's become a bit of an introvert since the Fall. Sherlock absolutely crushed her. (What a jerk, man.)**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 22

_Two Years Later_

"Hey, Madeline. I'm off, I'll see you soon; okay?"

"Sure, tell your date I said hi." John chuckled and grabbed his coat from the rack by Madeline's flat and heading out the door. Only she and Mrs. Hudson lived in the Baker Street apartments, now. John had moved in with his long term girlfriend but still spent time with Madeline and checked in on her occasionally.

After John had left Madeline felt the plastic smile melt off of her face. She raked her hand back through her hair and began pulling things out from her kitchen. She'd taken comfort in cooking, even though she didn't eat much of the food herself. She turned the oven on and preheated it before swinging a dishtowel over her shoulder and spreading flour on the counter to lay down the dough she'd use. Madeline head something creak behind her and spun around to survey the doorway suspiciously. She frowned and pushed her hair back from her face again, not caring that she was smearing flour into her hair. Madeline heard something again and pulled the dishtowel from her shoulder, convinced something was wrong. She didn't hear anything else and turned back to her work.

"Are you trying to hide your feelings behind food? Normally most girls would eat instead of cook." Madeline whirled around and balked at the sight of Sherlock Holmes standing vacantly in her doorway. She glared at him and threw the dough onto the counter forcefully with a _smack_ sound and began kneading it.

"You're not real." She said simply after a second.

"Maybe," He responded flatly. "Why are you so drawn and thin?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Hunger has nothing to do with dark circles under your eyes and fingernails bitten to the quick. Chipped polish says you were making an effort to look tidy and put together- probably to dissuade someone's concerns- but judging from the severity of the application you gave up. And that food isn't even for you, is it?" Sherlock observed callously.

"Go away," Madeline muttered, not looking up from the dough. "You're driving me insane."

"But I just got here."

"You're imaginary."

"Am I?" Madeline slammed her hands onto the counter and whipped the towel off of her shoulder then brandished it furiously.

"Enough! Stop not answering me! Are you really him or not?" She growled. Sherlock returned her glare apathetically.

"If I was a figment of your imagination I wouldn't be able to answer you because I'd have all the answers you do." He took three long strides across Madeline's flat until they were chest to chest. The detective awkwardly wrapped his arms around Madeline and pulled her a little closer to him. She stumbled a little over her own feet and fell into his chest. Her hands flew up instinctively and knitted themselves in his familiar coat, the end of his scarf just brushing the backs of her hands.

"There, am I real now?" Sherlock murmured quietly. Madeline pressed her ear to his chest, trying not to break into tears. His deep voice rumbled in his chest by her ear, accompanied by the constant thudding sound of his heartbeat.

"Yeah, I guess so." She mumbled, not really caring about the mess of flour in her hair or her rolled up sleeves.

"It seems the only figment was my demise in the first place." Sherlock said, his faint smile disappeared as he slid his arms to Madeline's wrists and turned them over. The two-year-old scars from her suicide attempt seemed to glow luminescently in the harsh kitchen lights.

"You really tried it." Sherlock said quietly. Madeline pulled back from him a little bit, turning her wrists inwards to face her chest.

"You jumped. And I could have stopped you. You were only a few floors away, but I went outside instead." She said in a watery voice.

"Moriarty would have shot you first." Sherlock said firmly. "He had snipers set up to shoot you, John, and Mrs. Hudson if I didn't jump." Madeline's eyes narrowed in a sudden fit of anger. She stepped back and weakly hit Sherlock's chest with the closed side of her fist.

"You're an _asshole_, Sherlock Holmes. You _left_ us. For _two_ years. Two years! Wait until John- oh my God. John. He's going to have a fit when he gets back." She said breathlessly. Sherlock cocked his head at her quizzically, and Madeline noticed his hair had gotten longer. It curled past the tips of his ears almost comically.

"Where is John?"

"On a date."

"He held a girlfriend?"

"He didn't have you to run her off. Yes, they've been going out for the past year." Madeline affirmed, Sherlock looked genuinely amused as she told them the details of their date for the evening. Sherlock gave a confident smirk as he strode to the door.

"I'll pay him a visit, then." He said. "He'll be delighted to see me."

"Oh no you don't; not while he's on a _date_." Madeline said angrily. "He'll be furious. Hell, I'm still mad at you." Sherlock paused at the door and turned back towards her.

"I _am_ sorry- you should realize that." He took a step forward and kissed her forehead lightly before quickly leaving and shutting the door behind him. Madeline scowled and returned to her dough, kneading it absentmindedly and trying to banish the small smile that threatened to creep across her face and the tears trying to fall onto the counter. He was back. But the ass had stayed away for two years and sent her mind and sanity through hell, John's too. But he was back; and he had apologized. And for _two years_ she'd been on the verge of a mental breakdown… but he was back. And that's all that mattered.

. . .

John stormed into Madeline's flat later that evening with a pale blonde woman and Sherlock in tow. The detective was pinching at his nose and seemed to be nursing a split lip at the same time.

"What happened to you?" Madeline exclaimed, none too happy with the detective that he'd gotten injured mere hours after resurrecting himself.

"'Ohn 'id." Sherlock said nasally through his pinched nose. "'e 'idn't ake it like I 'ought." John was pacing rapidly on Madeline's carpet, muttering furiously to his girlfriend who stood maternally by his side.

"And _now_ he decides to come back! After two years! Sherlock- Sherlock I swear I'm going to bloody strangle you-"He growled. Sherlock winced and removed his fingers from the bridge of his nose gingerly.

"Why? I just got back. No use in sending me to the grave for rea-" Without a word his former flatmate tacked the detective to the floor with an angry shout; leaving Madeline and John's date to pull them apart.

John was on one side of the room, being restrained by his girlfriend and Madeline was standing in the no-man's-land between them and Sherlock; feeling out of place in her own apartment. John's date introduced herself as Mary Morstan between John's furious outbursts of violence towards Sherlock.

"So," John said forcefully once he had begun to calm himself down. "You played dead for two years and left us to our grief and guilt." Sherlock frowned and pinched at his nose absently to see if it was still bleeding.

"Don't be ridiculous, I was busy. I had to dismantle Moriarty's terrorist network that he had set up over the continents of Europe and Asia Minor." He said nonchalantly. John rubbed his temples angrily and growled.

"That's not my point, git. You couldn't bother to drop a note or _something_ to let us know you were alive?" He hissed. Madeline felt her chagrin with Sherlock return in force, but also just felt relieved that he was actually back and in the flesh. A part of her was too happy to be angry, and another part of her was furious that he had ignored them for so long. Sherlock seemed a little miffed at the statement and pulled his scarf from about his neck absently.

"Of course I couldn't. If I had let you know that I was alive Moriarty's men would have come after you before I could- disable them. It would have been a much more trying experience if I'd kept in contact. Aren't you grateful?" He asked. John responded by aiming another punch at Sherlock's nose, but missed and caught his flatmate squarely in the cheek.

"John!" Mary reprimanded him sharply as she caught his sleeve when he drew back for another punch. "You've hit him enough. Come home and calm down." The doctor stopped, breathing heavily and clenching and relaxing his fists periodically. He left Madeline's flat wordlessly before muttering to her to take her medicine; Mary followed after him with an apologetic smile to Sherlock.

"So he didn't take it well?" Madeline asked after the couple had left. Sherlock rubbed vigorously at his cheekbone, already beginning to show the shadow of a bruise.

"Apparently not. I don't know why he took it so harshly." He mused. Madeline shook her head and began straightening the things John had knocked aside or overturned in his scuffle.

"You don't know how hard it was for us. For John, I mean. He was completely devoid of emotion for some time after you- jumped." She stopped and rearranged her words before continuing, "Everyone was devastated. I don't think you realize how many friends you actually have. Lestrade, Molly, John, Mrs. Hudson and I all attended your funeral. Even Mycroft did."

"Yes I know." Sherlock said dismissively, "I saw you all." Madeline stopped from straightening out her rug and rounded on him.

"You're not serious. You attended your own funeral?"

"Mycroft said it wouldn't cause any more harm."

"_Mycroft_ knew?"

"Yes."

"But _we_ didn't?"

"I suppose not." Sherlock shrugged. Madeline groaned and finished restoring her living room to its original state.

"I'm glad you're back." She said awkwardly after a moment. Sherlock inclined his head to show he had heard her then left silently for his flat just like he would have done two years prior. Madeline ended her night by crawling into bed and lying there wide awake for a while, just thinking. After a while Sherry jumped onto the bed and curled up against her owner's side. Madeline thought she had imagined it; but soon the soft sound of violin music wafted through the floorboards of 221 B and into her apartment, lulling her to sleep.

. . .

Madeline awoke the next morning to utter silence. She slowly crept out of bed and made her way to her door. As soon as she opened her door she bolted up the stairs and swung into Baker Street. She stopped right outside the door and steeled herself before springing into the flat and stopping short.

Empty.

Just as it had been for the last two years.

Madeline pushed the tears from her eyes and spun back around to leave.

"Where are you going?" Someone asked, she whirled around and leaned around the corner to peer into the kitchen. Sherlock was hunched over the table and investigating what looked like leaves in beakers. Madeline's legs almost gave out in relief, so it hadn't been a dream. She teetered into the kitchen and collapsed into the chair across the table from Sherlock. He quirked an eyebrow at her and went back to his experiment. Madeline stared at the gouges in the table that looked like knife or sword marks and traced a particularly long one along the wood.

"So- would you mind telling me where you've been?" She asked, trying not to sound as angry as she felt. Sherlock raised his eyes to look at her over the boiling dishes and sighed.

"You heard me explaining to John last night." He said callously, Madeline smiled and picked at her fingernails.

"Yeah, but it was hard to understand you through a nosebleed." She said. Sherlock frowned and poked one of the leaves floating in the boiling water with a stirring straw.

"I was dismantling Moriarty's criminal network. It was an elaborate syndicate spread across the eastern hemisphere." He said tonelessly, like a professor repeating an old lecture. Madeline picked at her fingers again until one of her cuticles started to bleed. She winced and wrapped her finger in her shirt. Sherlock sighed heavily.

"I can't help you, I've got Elodea cells and chemicals on my hands. John used to keep the medical kit under the sink, though." Madeline slid out of the chair and perused through the cabinets until she found the first aid kit. She dabbed a little antibiotic on her finger then wrapped it in a band aid. Sherlock watched her until one of his cups started to boil over. He swore to himself and blew on the flame underneath the beaker gently until the water returned to a semi-boiling state. Madeline took her seat across from him again.

"So that was the where. But what about the why and how?" She asked, Sherlock shook his head and tapped a little bit of a powder into the cup on his right.

"Do you think I'd tell you?"

"Probably not." Madeline clasped her hands around her knee and pulled one foot underneath her comfortably. "But I was hoping you might." She added. Sherlock didn't answer her, instead he stretched his hand across the table and held up an Elodea leaf clutched between a pair of forceps.

"Smell this." He demanded. Madeline sighed and sniffed the leaf delicately before sinking back into her seat. Sherlock brought the Elodea closer to his face before wrinkling his nose in distaste and going back to his experiment. He jumped up from the table and strode to the refrigerator only to find it empty and awfully clean, devoid of any of his past experiments.

"Sorry," Madeline said behind him. "John and I had to clean it out, stuff was beginning to rot." Sherlock growled in frustration and knocked his forehead on the refrigerator door exasperatedly.

"I was going to need those!"

"Well we didn't know you were going to come back!" Madeline snapped, feeling her chest begin to constrict again. Sherlock groaned and leaned his forehead against the door for a second. To Madeline it seemed like he was trying to rein in his irritation with her. Finally the detective spun back around and sat back at the table, fiddling with all the vials and beakers on the tables. The pressure on Madeline's chest eased up a little bit, and she laced her fingers together and sat back to watch.

"So your career," Sherlock mused, "How has that been faring?"

"Collectively all the days I've been to work in the last two years amount to about a month and a half." She said quietly. Sherlock grunted and relit one of the flames that had sputtered out under a vial.

"Do tell me John put you on a stronger medication." He said absently, Madeline crossed her arms and took a second to choose her words and organize them appropriately.

"He did- doesn't mean I take them though." She said at last. Sherlock cut her a glare above the smoking tops of the beakers.

"You should. You can't always have someone following you around and checking your wrists at every free moment." He said pointedly.

"I never said I wanted anyone to." Madeline snapped back. Her body language became more tense and aggressive, automatically prompting Sherlock to assess her.

_**Scars on both wrists, probably legs and stomach too.**_

_**Legs uncrossed, uncomfortable.**_

_**Fingers grasping upper arms.**_

_**Straining of neck muscles. **_

_**Cat hair on stomach and lap, still owns the **_**thing**_**. **_

Madeline shifted uncomfortably and accidentally let her scowl slip from her face. By the time she had realized it was happening a soft smile had already made its way onto her face. She wiped it off quickly but Sherlock had already given her a quizzical glance.

"Apparently you still change moods on the flip of a dime." He observed. Madeline stared at her lap and marveled at the sudden absence of the emptiness.

"I guess I missed arguing with you." She murmured, "Life was kind of hell after you left." Sherlock carefully laid his pair of forceps on a sterile rag and gave her his full attention. Madeline blinked and tried to backtrack in her speech. "Well I mean I had John and all so I still had someone here to talk to and be with; but uh- yeah that's kind of it." She muttered. She looked up and saw that Sherlock had his fingers laced together in front of his nose in the familiar way he had used to.

"Do you realize you've picked up a slight accent?" He said, Madeline furrowed her brow and prodded her throat with a finger.

"No, I didn't." Sherlock snorted.

"It's becoming rather obvious. Try saying aluminum if you don't believe me." He suggested cheekily before picking up his forceps and going back to work on the Elodea leaves. Madeline stuck her tongue out at him, reveling in the endorphins flooding her mind with the sudden urge to laugh. She pushed back from the table and missed the look Sherlock threw after her as she strode to the door.

"I'm going to go call John," She said, "You two really need to patch up." Sherlock tapped his split lip with a finger and shrugged.

"I don't think he wants to see me," He countered childishly. Madeline huffed and crossed her arms at him, subconsciously making sure to keep her wrists facing inwards towards her chest.

"And did you tell Mrs. Hudson yet?" She asked, "She was heartbroken, too."

"Too?" Sherlock murmured before speaking loud enough for Madeline to hear him, "If she didn't hear John's ranting last night then I don't know how to tell her." Madeline gave the detective a small smile and left for her flat, but not before stopping by 221 A and sending the landlady upstairs. She closed her door to the exuberant squeals of Mrs. Hudson and the sound of vials being knocked over to the floor from her probable attempts at a hug.

. . .

_"Hello?"_

"John. Hey, it's Madeline."

_"Hi, Madeline. Sorry, this is Mary."_Madeline winced at her mistake and played it off with a laugh.

"Oh sorry, Mary. Is John there?" There was a small pause on the other end of the line until Mary spoke again.

_"He is, but he a little busy at the moment."_ She reported. Madeline bounced on the balls of her feet anxiously.

"Can you tell him it's important?" She pleaded. Mary hummed on the other line before responding.

_"I'll see what I can do."_ Madeline waited in silence on the phone until John's voice crackled through.

_"Madeline, are you okay? What's wrong?"_ He said urgently. Madeline released the breath she didn't know she had been holding and collapsed into her armchair.

"Nothing is _wrong_ wrong. But- something is wrong." She said cryptically, John was speechless from the other side for a second.

_"Have you had your medicine lately?"_ He finally asked. Madeline rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'd be lying if I said yes. But anyway Sherlock wants to talk to you. Can you-"

_"No. No way, nothing you- or Mary!-"_ His voice got louder as he pointedly emphasized his girlfriend's name, who must have been standing beside him. _–say will get me to talk to that selfish git. I'm not doing it."_

"John please." Madeline begged, she could hear Mary quietly persuading the doctor to consider it as well but he declined. "Fine, then." Madeline huffed, "But I do need a new prescription so stop by when you can." With that she hung up the phone and darted to 221 B. Mrs. Hudson was still kissing Sherlock's cheeks in excitement when her tenant entered.

"Look, he's back!" The landlady exclaimed happily. Madeline smiled tersely at Mrs. Hudson and nodded before catching Sherlock by the sleeve and dragging him back to her flat.

"What are you doing?" He snapped, tearing his arm from her grasp. Madeline sank into one of her chairs and pulled her legs up beneath her as Sherry stalked out of the kitchen. Sherlock could have sworn the cat got fatter.

"You're staying with me until John gets here." Madeline said, slightly out of breath from running up the stairs with so little food in her body. She stood and made her way over to Sherlock with a frown on her face. He eyed her out of annoyance and suspicion until she drew back her fist and caught him on the side of his face. The detective stumbled back angrily, it hadn't hurt much, but it was uncalled for.

"And what was that for?" He snarled at her. Madeline shook her hand out and reclaimed her seat in her chair.

"I'm still furious with you for being such a goddamn asshole. But John is going to be here shortly and you guys are going to talk it out like grown men. Mary and I will restrain you two if we have to." She retorted. Sherlock rubbed at his face vigorously and took a miffed seat on the couch across the room.

"You should eat something," He said snarkily after a while. "Your punches are weak." Madeline glared at him over the top of the book she was reading.

"It got my point across. Happy as I am to see you I'm still angry." She said simply before turning the page and nonchalantly stroking Sherry in her lap. Sherlock scowled and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and categorizing his experiments.

. . .

"I'm not going to talk to him! I don't care if he just came back, he can just as soon as go away again for all I care. I'm going to write Madeline a new prescription and then we'll go home." Madeline and Sherlock heard John before they saw him. He stepped into 221 C a few minutes later with Mary only half a step behind him. The doctor's face broke into a smile as soon as he saw Madeline but frowned when he saw Sherlock still pretending to be in his mind palace.

"Here," John said, thrusting a prescription note at Madeline. She took it gingerly and put it in her pocket.

"Make sure you actually use it." Sherlock said pointedly from across the room, still with his eyes closed. Madeline stood from her chair and deposited Sherry onto the carpet.

"So you're Mary, right? I'm surprised John never introduced us before." She said, walking to the door and holding it open. Mary followed her to the door, ignoring the curious look from her boyfriend. Sherlock opened his eyes wide in surprise and jumped up from the couch just as Madeline shut her flat door and locked it. Something heavy slammed against the door from the other side, and she and Mary couldn't tell which of the two it was.

"If you guys break my door I'm going to be furious with both of you. And don't touch my books," Madeline added through the door. She heard both of them groan and sit down somewhere. From the creaking of the upholstery someone was on Madeline's couch, and from the squeak of leather someone else was in her armchair.

"Those chairs are across the room from each other." Madeline whispered dejectedly. Mrs. Hudson surprised her and Mary by popping up at the top of the stairs and inviting them to tea.

"So how's John taking the news?" The landlady asked kindly. Madeline wrinkled her nose and stared quietly at her hands while Mary introduced herself and explained why they'd locked Sherlock and John in Madeline's flat. Mrs. Hudson frowned,

"That's rude, they should be a little more appreciative of each other, don't you think? And Madeline," She said, turning to her tenant. "How are you getting along, dear?" Madeline scratched her fingernail on the enamel of the teacup and winced at the uncomfortable sound it made.

"I'm good," She said quietly. Mrs. Hudson's motherly frown returned in force.

"You seemed so full of energy earlier today. Are you sure?" Madeline nodded and tried to avoid saying anything. Mary's head tilted to the side slightly.

"I think they've worked it out." She murmured quietly, thanking Mrs. Hudson for the tea and standing to make her way to 221 C. Madeline quietly followed and fished her flat keys out of her pocket. She and Mary unlocked the door and peered inside, fearing the worst, and instead saw John and Sherlock seated comfortably in two of Madeline's chairs. They looked comfortable, even though Sherlock had a new bruise under his left eye.

"It's quite mesmerizing," Sherlock said,

"Well, yeah. But they were a lot- deader." John added. There was a lapse of silence before they both erupted into gales of laughter. Mary smiled warmly at Madeline and winked before pushing the door open the rest of the way and entering the flat. Madeline filed in behind her, noting that the laughter stopped as soon as she and Mary walked in.

"So are you two okay, now?" Mary asked, smiling at John warmly. Her boyfriend rubbed at his chin irately like he wanted to say something but didn't want to say it in front of Madeline and Sherlock.

"Yeah, I guess so." He muttered. "You stayed away too long, git." He punched Sherlock on the shoulder lightly and the detective flinched, expecting another blow to the face. Madeline couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of her mouth, and she couldn't trap it with her hands across her lips. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John cracked a wry grin.

"I haven't seen you laugh like that in two years." The doctor said. Madeline felt her mouth curling into a smile underneath her fingers almost against her will.

"I've got a reason to, again." She said quietly.

**A.N.- No. No, no, no it's not done yet. This is a revolution point and now we're heading into the last leg of the story. **


	23. Chapter 23

**A.N.- I'm fandom multitasking here- writing Sherlock fanfics with my sonic screwdriver pen then transferring it to my computer while watching Supernatural. (SuperWhoLock anyone? Anyone?)**

**ChickenYear- That's an interesting name. It makes me thing of the Chinese Zodiac for some reason. XD Yeah, Madeline has trouble, but she'll be okay. She's got the guys to help her- but they won't do it for her. She has to help herself. This chapter should have the bits of love that you're looking for. Little fluff- happy stuff. I hope you like it!**

**ArisuTamaZuki- Thank you, you're so sweet!**

**maddQueen- Thanks! I made sure to put some fluff in here. It's slight but not permanent- meaning that I'm just introducing the stuff and then it'll reappear every once in a while in a really underhand manner. (You'll see what I mean. XD)**

**Sorry guys- I gave in to my inner-fangirl!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 23

Madeline was in shock. She wasn't catatonic, but she was still having trouble comprehending that he actually was back. She wanted to throw herself at Sherlock and hug him senseless, but if it really was him he'd shove her away and swing his violin bow at her. And if it wasn't everything would dissolve like a murky dream.

She sat quietly in her flat after John and Mary had left. Sherlock had gone back to 221 B as soon as they had exited, and finally Madeline decided to do something.

She took a long shower and washed all the flour and grease from her hair, then picked out real clothes and put them on. Sherry wove in between her feet and made it impossible to slip shoes on, so Madeline grabbed an old pair of tennis shoes and her bag and went to the door. She slid her feet into the shoes and opened the door, squinting slightly at the sunlight, before stepping into the brisk February air.

_Literally almost two years,_ she thought, stepping outside for the first time in a few days and heading to St. Bart's. The afternoon was ending, and the sun was waning, but she confidently walked to the hospital and into her musty lab. Of course there was an enormous stack of requests waiting for her, as well as a couple of papers threatening her job if she didn't come back and get to work. Madeline sighed and flipped the switch on the wall. Her lab slowly began to heat up as the overhead lights flickered on. She stretched her arms above her head and began to work.

Madeline had forgotten how much she loved her job. It was satisfactory to print out the final moldings for protein folds and fax them to the doctors in other parts of the hospitals or to test blood samples for hereditary disorders. Molly stopped in around four.

"I saw that you'd checked in on the computer." She said quietly, "And I wanted to tell you welcome back." Madeline smiled at her, internally marveling at how easy it was to be jovial.

"Yeah, Sherlock came back." Molly did her best to look surprised, but Madeline caught the small glance she threw to her feet.

"Oh yes. I um, heard." Molly said shakily. Madeline crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side.

"He told you."

"W- no! No of course not!" Molly stammered. "I mean I helped but- I didn't know when he was coming back. Oh dear, I meant that I-"

"It's okay." Madeline said, waving the fingers of her right hand dismissively while still keeping her arms crossed. "It's okay." She repeated softer. Molly shifted uncomfortably until Madeline turned back to her computer and began to type absently on the keyboard.

"So," She said, "How's work going for you?" Molly gave her a small smile and launched into a speech about the autopsies she'd been working on for the last few weeks. Madeline nodded and only listened halfway as she kept working on her papers.

She finally looked up when she noticed that Molly had left. Madeline had been so absorbed in her work that she hadn't heard her friend leave.

"So that must be why Sherlock never notices stuff when he's in his mind palace." She murmured.

"What about my mind palace?" Someone said. Madeline spun around and brandished her computer mouse at Sherlock. When she saw it was him she slammed the device on the counters and sighed.

"I'm going to put a sign on the door that says to knock. I'm so tired of people surprising me in here." She muttered. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at her and stepped further into the room to put a cardboard box onto the table. Madeline eyed it dubiously.

"What's that?"

"It's a box full of a small portion of my experiments." Sherlock said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Madeline crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.

"And you brought it to my lab why?" She said, trying to sound snarky and fully awake when really all she wanted to do was go back to her flat and sleep.

"My lab us apparently no longer available for my use. Someone else is using it as an intern break room." Sherlock said vehemently. "So I'm using yours for the time being." Madeline sighed and rolled her eyes,

"Fine. What time is it? I think I'm going to sign out and finish the rest of these tomorrow." She murmured,

"Almost eight," Sherlock answered. "You look pallid and sick, you're still not eating." He observed monotonously. Madeline rubbed at her arms and looked to the clock in surprise.

"Oh my God, I've been working on the same file for three and a half hours." She exclaimed, rubbing her temples and gathering her coat. She strode to the door and turned around, taking her hand from her forehead and waving it at Sherlock.

"You can set your stuff down here, but don't- don't ouch the things I'm working on." She said sternly. Sherlock began pulling vials out of the box and arranging them on the table meticulously.

"I won't touch them as long as you eat something." He said after a second, "But if you don't you'll return to find everything in disarray. I also cannot vouch for the safety of the files on your computer drive."

"Look, I'm not hungry." Madeline snapped. "I've tried to eat a normal meal again but I always start to feel sick."

"That's because two years of abusing yourself have made you ill and unable to stomach things."

"Oh really. Mentally or physically, _detective_?" She countered, Sherlock didn't hesitate before responding.

"Both." Madeline scowled and pulled her throat around her shoulders before knocking the door open with her hip and turning to glare at Sherlock.

"You know what, it's not my fault." She snapped before storming form her own lab.

"Make sure you take your medication." Sherlock called after her meanly before turning back to the box and setting up the rest of his instruments.

. . .

"I'm going to start supervising you."

"_What_?" John folded his arms crossly.

"I'm going to start supervising your meals and your meds. I thought I could trust you to take them but apparently I can't." He said.

"You can't do that!" Madeline protested. John sighed and moved his hands to his hips, Madeline took on his previous pose and crossed her own arms.

"It'll be an inconvenience, yeah but I'd rather do that than have to supervise you on a tube through your stomach and an oxygen machine." The doctor said, he grabbed the offensively orange pill bottle from Madeline's kitchen cabinet and dumped three of the sky blue pills into his hand, then held them out to her. She wrinkled her nose at the pills, and her expression became even more disgusted when John added a circular black pill to his palm from another prescription bottle.

"Take them." He said.

"No." She countered.

"I will call Bart's and tell them you're unfit for work." John threatened.

"And what good will that do?" Madeline responded. John growled in frustration at the ceiling and shoved his hand at her.

"Madeline, please. I need you to take these. I'm seriously worried for you." He said quietly. Madeline scowled at her hands before snatching the pills from John's hand and tossing them into her mouth. She grimaced as they crawled their way down her throat and John crossed his arms.

"You need to eat something with those." He said pointedly,

"Like hell I do." Madeline growled back, gagging slightly and pulling a glass from her cabinet to fill it with water. She chased the pills down with the drink and winced at the rancid taste. John was already rummaging through the cabinets to put some kind of food together. He finally just laid two pieces of bread on the counter and spread some soft cheese on either slice before handing them to Madeline.

"If that's too rich for you, you can eat something simpler." He said solemnly. Madeline eyed the bread distastefully but took a small bite out of it at John's insistence. She grimaced but swallowed it, just like the pills.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up." She said weakly after a second. John folded his arms and nodded.

"Your stomach has shrunken because you're not taking care of yourself. Try and focus on keeping that down." He said professionally. Madeline swallowed the mouthful reluctantly and fought her gag reflex.

"What do you expect, just because Sherlock's back everything will be better?" She muttered.

"Of course I'm not, that's stupid. You've been falling apart for two years and you're not going to snap back just like that." John said, snapping his fingers for emphasis. "But I do need you to actually make an effort." He said in a softer voice. "I can't do this for you." John sighed and looked to the door, raising his eyebrows when he saw Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with a tea tray. The landlady bustled in and set the tray down on Madeline's kitchen table, then turned to Madeline herself.

"I know it's not easy, Dear." She consoled, "He's been gone for two years and it is a bit of a change to get used to, again. Why, I'm having to readjust to the violin music at all hours of the night, myself-"Mrs. Hudson caught John's pointed look and jumped back to the subject. "You'll be alright, dear. You can get back to where you were as the smiling, bouncy girl." Mrs. Hudson brushed her fingers against Madeline's cheek kindly and kissed her forehead like a mother would before bustling back downstairs. John yawned and rubbed at his eyes.

"I'm going to go home. Make sure you eat that," He pointed at the bread on the counter. "I'll check your waste bins if I have to." He smiled slightly and Madeline returned the gesture. The doctor hugged her before grabbing his coat and leaving. Madeline eyed the bread sitting maliciously on her counter and glared at it.

"I'm not going to eat you." She muttered. The bread stared vacantly back at her until Madeline felt her stomach growl. "Dammit," She murmured, "Doctor's orders." And reached for the food.

. . .

John's orders were kind of working. Kind of. Madeline could feel herself growing more and more tolerant of food and water, even though John insisted on watching her eat at least once a day and making sure she took her medication.

Sherlock continued to work in Madeline's lab, sometimes she would get to work in the morning and he would be tapping away on her lab computer or using one of her microscopes to look at dirt and rocks on the oil lens slide. Madeline would sigh to herself and roll her eyes then set up her things for the day and do her best to work around Sherlock, who didn't seem to pay any attention to where he was sitting or what lab equipment he was hijacking.

Madeline had also gotten used to spending some of her free time in 221 B again. She'd only been up there once the day after Sherlock had come back, but afterwards she gradually began to spend more time in the other flat again. John stopped by and talked with Madeline and Sherlock when he had days off form the clinic. Sometimes he wouldn't have time to stop by, so Madeline sat in 221 B and slowly reacquainted herself with Sherlock being around. It was awkward at first, but he wasn't as snide as he had been before. Still an ass, but not as snide. Since Sherlock had returned John, Madeline, and Mrs. Hudson had begun to heal slowly but surely; and Madeline had begun to set alarms to alert her when to take her medicine.

. . .

"Wrong, wrong, wrong." Sherlock muttered, walking around his flat in deep strides. "It's wrong!" Madeline sat in the kitchen, trying to force herself to eat a sandwich.

"Hut esh?" She asked past a mouthful of bread and turkey that made her want to retch.

"The bloody case. A man was found dead in his car with a plastic bag tied around his neck and a shotgun shell shot through his head." Sherlock ranted. Madeline swallowed the food queasily and gingerly set the sandwich down.

"A shotgun?"

"Yes, his face was blown open in the front, so it was a shot taken from behind. The back seat. But then why put a bag over his head? Suffocation, of course. But why bother with two methods of execution? The bag wasn't torn, the shot was taken first within the car then the bag was added. But _why_-"Sherlock was interrupted by Madeline stepping forward and pressing her lips to his briefly. As soon as she had she stepped away with her face flushed scarlet. Sherlock blinked for a second before putting together a coherent sentence.

"What…"

"Oh God sorry, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have done that. You were ranting and frustrated and I hate hearing about the cases... wait no-sorry. I've just uh, wanted to do that ever since you got back. Kind of before that, too." Madeline blabbed, all the words spilling from her mouth at once. "I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. Oh my God sorry…" She began to mix tiny explicates into her words.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, stopping Madeline midsentence. "I can't think when you're blithering." He touched his fingers together at the tips and raised them to his lips. Madeline shifted uncomfortably for a few minutes while the detective said nothing. She assumed he was in his mind palace and didn't want to be disturbed.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna go. Yeah." She said quietly before turning and hightailing back to her flat. As soon as Madeline passed the threshold and shut the door behind her and slumped against it dejectedly and suppressed the urge to giggle and bang her head on the wall at the same time. She was still wallowing in regret and worry when a rough knock resonated through her door. Madeline bolted upright off of the wood and opened it slowly. Sherlock Holmes stood in her doorway awkwardly, the very tips of his ears tinged pink. He stared at her for a second before jerking like someone had electrically shocked him and stepping forward. Madeline didn't have time to think or move before an arm was wrapped awkwardly around her waist and Sherlock pressed his cool lips against Madeline's.

She was frozen with exhilaration and the adrenaline lancing through her veins like lightning; but finally they had to pull away. Sherlock took a tiny step back and remained in Madeline's doorway as she stared at him incredulously. Her fingers unconsciously wandered over her lips, trying to reconstruct the last few minutes and see if she had been dreaming.

"That was a first." She said quietly, Sherlock arched an eyebrow at her.

"And it'll be the last," He said. Madeline shrank back a little bit, trying to hide the hurt look that swept across her face. Sherlock saw and sighed before clarifying.

"The last time I'll have to chase you to kiss you." He amended emotionlessly. "Cowardice is unsavory." Madeline jumped back and snapped her fingers before almost skipping to the other room to grab something. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to calculate the average amount of dopamine the female brain secreted after being kissed and how long it lasted. Madeline trudged back into the living room with much less enthusiasm than she'd left with, and Sherlock immediately noticed she had something clutched in her hands. She gingerly stepped up to him and held it out, and the detective realized she was holding the ridiculously ugly hat with the floppy ears. Sherlock pinched it between two fingers and held it up.

"John brought this down to me when he was packing up from your flat." Madeline said quietly. "I just remembered it now." Sherlock assessed the hat uninterestedly, noting the edges that looked like they'd been rubbed in sympathy or agitation, telling him Madeline hadn't "just remembered it." He rolled the hat back and forth in his hands out of boredom.

"So what is the point of this?" He said a little irately, noting again how Madeline's face flushed pink before she spoke.

"I don't know. I thought you might want it back now that you're… back." She mumbled. Sherlock rolled his eyes and loosely dropped the hat onto her head.

"That's ridiculous. I hated it from the beginning, go get rid of it or do something else with it, I don't care." He said dismissively, turning to leave. He stopped short for a minute and turned around to lift the brim of the hat and kiss Madeline's forehead slightly, then the detective spun on his heel and left. Madeline almost wanted to run after Sherlock and kiss him again, but she smiled to herself and shut the door. She spun around with a ridiculous grin on her face until she collapsed on her couch with a happy sigh. The hat slipped off of Madeline's head to cover her eyes, and she let it stay there. Soon she felt Sherry leap onto her stomach and knead her shirt with her claws. Madeline winced and readjusted her cat before falling asleep on her couch with a lopsided grin on her face.

**A.N.- So yeah, kind of short; but still worth some fluff right? GOD I love Supernatural. I have my hand in too many fandoms. (I count anime as one fandom of its own, then there's Homestuck, Sherlock, Dr. Who, Supernatural (SPN), Disney, etc.) I'm absolutely crazy. But hey- at least I'm not the crazy cat lady kind that will murder anyone and everyone who attacks their fandom. (Chill guys… you're making the rest of us look bad.)**


	24. Chapter 24

**A.N.- Look up the Dueling Fiddlers, Back in Black on YouTube. I'm working on learning this on the violin. (My room mate plays the viola so maybe we can do the duet…) anyway I saw it and immediately thought of Sherlock playing it while he's thinking really hard. I don't know, maybe I'm hallucinating, but that'd be pretty cool.**

**maddQueen- SPN is boss dude. Look up "SPN When Dad isn't Home". Jesus I can't stop laughing and playing it. And yeah, I forgot HP! I used to be waaaay into that (till I turned 11 and went to HP world. Meh I can still kick ass with references, though. XD)**

**Grace- Thank you, I'm very very flattered you think it's good! (Like steamroller flattered. Means a lot. ^_^) And yeah, it's not over yet although we are on the last big leg. I might do a sequel (I normally do when I really love a ship, like my Ian Malcolm/ OC story and stuff.) but it depends on how this one ends, you know? I'm having trouble keeping up with Gatiss' genius and standards. Ahhh!**

*****HEY*** And does anyone do OC drawing commissions? Or draw in general? Call me selfish, I just think it'd be cool to see a couple of renderings of the characters. **

**Just sayin'…**

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 24

Sherlock showed no change in affection after he kissed Madeline, and she took it as a sign not to be overly affectionate towards him, either. Every time he walked in the room, though she felt her chest expand with warmth and her lips would start to tingle slightly. She hadn't realized how much she'd actually liked the detective, it shocked her that she did and hadn't realized it herself. Apparently Sherlock had told John what had happened, that or Madeline's face gave everything away because John kept on throwing Madeline curious glances whenever he visited.

"So Sherlock," Madeline said solemnly, lacing her hands together and capping them over her knee to pull her leg to her chest. John was sitting comfortably in his old chair that they'd moved back into 221 B even though the doctor was still living with Mary. Sherlock grunted in acknowledgement from the computer he was typing into at the speed of about two words per minute.

"What about Moriarty?" Madeline continued, trying to get the words out of her mouth before Jim's name left a foul taste. John and Sherlock both looked at her, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"What about him?" He responded. Madeline shrugged and tapped her fingers on her knee.

"If you survived… what's to say he didn't, too?" She asked. Sherlock interrupted her with a barking laugh before dropping the arrogant smirk from his face and going back to typing into the laptop.

"That's stupid, he wouldn't- couldn't have survived. I saw him; he shot himself through the roof of his mouth." He explained. Madeline winced before shrugging and turning to stare at the carpet blankly.

"I don't know. It's just a little unnerving, you know? Like what if he does come back?" She murmured, silencing the alarm that shrieked from her phone to alert her to take her medications and turning her attention back to her neighbor.

"No, Madeline. Moriarty isn't coming back. He's dead." Sherlock said firmly before dropping the subject and turning back to the screen. John raised his eyebrows and rubbed at his jaw.

"He called you by your first name, again." He whispered to Madeline, "He's been doing that a lot lately." She nodded to show that she'd heard him and disappeared into her flat, returning minutes later with a small stack of books and papers in her arms.

"If you're going to hang out, John you can help me file some stuff." She said pointedly. John rolled his eyes dejectedly and held his hand out for a stack of papers. Madeline grinned and tossed him a manila folder. The two of them began to categorize the papers by last name, then by date. Sherlock continued to type into the laptop apathetically.

"So… any new cases?" Madeline asked Sherlock quietly. He gave her a look that lingered a bit longer than it should have.

"I'm still working on the car case." He responded after a second. "I became distracted and left the case be for a day or so, which was extremely unprofessional. It's almost solved, though," Madeline hid her flushing face behind her papers and John blew air out of his cheeks.

"Oh hey Sherlock, Mary and I were going on a date soon." He said suddenly. Sherlock grunted indifferently and kept working. John rubbed his temples before continuing. "_So_, we were planning on a dinner date at this pub on the West Side but Mary's mom's gotten herself ill." Sherlock looked up from the computer to glare at his former flatmate.

"And your point-?"

"Well that's where the man in the car was found, right?" John said, Sherlock nodded and shrugged his shoulders. John sighed and kept going. "So why don't you and Madeline take a stop over to there and do some investigating? You might be able to close the case." He suggested, Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust at the idea to show how little he cared for it.

"That's useless, why would we go to dinner if we were going to research a case?" The detective said curiously. Madeline sniggered into her hand and John sighed.

"You can research the case better on a full stomach."

"I don't need to eat."

"Well Madeline does."

"She doesn't have to come."

"What if I want to?" Madeline interjected, crossing her arms and entering the conversation.

"What if you're not welcome?" Sherlock retorted. She frowned at him and went back to her paperwork sullenly. John blew air out of his cheeks again like a deflated balloon.

"Seriously, Sherlock just go. It'll do you good." He said. The detective growled and slammed the laptop shut with a bang.

"Fine," He snarled, standing and wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck. "Let's go." John shook his hand in front of him like they were wet.

"I'm not going, I'm going back home to Mary." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor.

"I thought Mary was with her ill mother." He said, John closed his mouth abruptly and stood, holding the door open for Madeline. She smiled and walked down the stairs and into the landing at the bottom. John followed her and Sherlock scowled before stepping outside with them.

. . .

"He's cowardly." Sherlock spat,

"He was busy." Madeline said, playing with her hands in her pockets as she walked beside Sherlock on the street. The detective had opted out of calling a cab after John had immediately hailed one and sped away from Baker Street like a demon. He'd shoved his hands into his coat pockets sulkily and started down the street with Madeline on his heels. She had to lengthen her strides to keep up with Sherlock's long legs, but she enjoyed the clouds of white that lingered in front of her when she exhaled and breezed through them before they disappeared. Sherlock didn't look at her, he kept on swiveling his eyes to the people, signs, cars, and buildings around them; anywhere except Madeline. She shrugged her shoulders and kept walking in silence with the detective, content to be outside in the February air. The clouds were foreshadowing rain, and paired with the cold temperature the prospect of snow looked promising.

When they finally reached the pub the temperature had dropped. Madeline had pulled her coat collar up around her ears and even Sherlock pulled his coat nearer to his face. The pub was crowded, but they were able to get a tiny table squeezed by the window overlooking the street. A smiling waitress came by and took their orders, then left them in silence. Madeline fidgeted with her hands under the table and tried to initiate conversation.

"Do you think it will snow?" She asked. Sherlock pressed the back of his hand against the window pane beside him, then withdrew it and placed it comfortably in his lap.

"Most likely," He said, "The weather certainly seems to be calling for it."

"Good." Madeline coincided, "I like snow, we never got much of it at home but London always seems to have some." Sherlock did his best to listen cordially but couldn't stop his mind from wandering and assessing the foam on the sides of a patron's beer mug to figuring out what brand the man was drinking based on how quickly the foam slid down the side of the glass. He also could smell the cigarette smoke radiating from the kitchen where someone was smoking a low tar cigarette.

"Don't you think?" Madeline asked. Sherlock's eyes roamed across the television screens set up around the pub, a couple of them portrayed an indoor rugby match, while others streamed soap operas or played international news.

"Yes, low tar isn't as good." He answered without thinking. Madeline sighed and rested her cheek on her hand, resigning herself to staring out the window until their food arrived.

When the waitress brought the food, Sherlock embarrassed her by asking where her engagement ring was and why she'd been working later hours, even though his smug face showed that he knew the answer. She slammed his plate down in front of him and clutched her tray to her chest before sweeping back into the kitchen. Madeline kicked at Sherlock's leg under the table and shook her head furiously when he glared at her.

"Can you not? Seriously, we're in public."

"So?"

"You can't act like a spoiled kid whenever you go outside!" Madeline said firmly, "Wait- does the public even know you're back?" She asked softly. Sherlock smirked at her cockily and shook his head. She sighed and lowered her head to the table, mindful of the plate of food in her way.

"Then why are we in public? How have you left the house at all! I mean, if someone sees you we're all going to be swamped by the press again!" Madeline complained quietly. When she sat back up Sherlock pulled at the hair brushing past the tops of his ears.

"Not quite, I grew my hair out and I'm not wearing the ridiculous hat. We should be fine." He said, Madeline took one look at the world's only consulting detective trying to cover his ears with his hair and burst into laughter, then Sherlock even gave her a small smile. When Madeline's laughter had subsided into small snickers she regained her posture and began to pick at her food. Sherlock folded his arms and didn't eat until Madeline looked up at him.

"No way. If I'm going to have to eat then you're going to have to eat." She chided, Sherlock huffed.

"Then why go to a restaurant and order food if you didn't want to eat?" He said, Madeline raised an eyebrow at him.

"You and John are the ones who have been harping on me to start eating more." She retorted, "If I'm eating you're eating, dig in." She began to cut the meat on her plate into small pieces and pushed them around on her plate before finally eating one. Sherlock folded his arms onto the table and turned his focus outside until Madeline kicked at him under the table again.

"Eat." She demanded. Sherlock scowled at her and shook his head. She sighed and looked back at him. After a few seconds of them staring back and forth awkwardly Sherlock broke the terse silence between them.

"Don't try to kiss me again if you plan to run away afterwards." He said finally. Madeline blinked and sat backwards in her chair, not realizing she'd been leaning forward slightly.

"Excuse me?"

"Your pupils are dilated, a sign of affection in humans." Sherlock explained, flicking his finger at Madeline's face dismissively.

"Oh." She said, she tried to get a closer look at his pupils, but the detective's eyes were dancing all over the pub, assessing anything and everything nearby. Madeline cleared her throat pointedly until he turned his eyes back to her.

"I wasn't planning on it, I mean. That's- that's a cool fact, though…" She said, becoming distracted and trailing her words off as she turned to stare out the window with wide eyes. Sherlock followed her gaze and saw tiny flakes of white swirling down from the sky in small troupes at first, then in an increasing horde.

"It's snowing!" Madeline said breathlessly.

"Good observation," Sherlock said snidely. She huffed at him agitatedly and turned back to the window giddily. Her breath fogged up the glass in front of her so she used her forearm to wipe the mist away and keep the falling snow in view.

"God I love it when it snows here," Madeline breathed. Sherlock let a small smile bend the corner of his mouth as he watched her gawk at the snow falling outside. He'd already begun to collect himself and lean forward slightly when Madeline gasped and her eyes opened even wider. The detective noticed her pupils had shrunk to the size that people portrayed when they'd been shown pictures of something they hated or that disgusted them in a scientific study. Sherlock followed her gaze again only to be shocked and taken aback. The television in a shop window across the street was no longer broadcasting a romantic comedy, instead it had defaulted to a fuzzy screen that was flickering between multiple images. Madeline's breath caught in her throat when she realized what the images were. For one split second all the images melded together and formed the face of the man she hated the most on the entire planet. Jim Moriarty.

Madeline looked to Sherlock to make sure she hadn't been hallucinating, but her fears were confirmed when she saw the muscles in the detective's jaw working furiously as he worked to rein in his anger. The image on the screen blurred and disappeared in a flurry of static, only to come back in more clarity than before. It was a picture of Moriarty with his mouth moving eerily open and closed like a wooden puppet. Beneath his head two words glowed imposingly on the screen.

_**I'm. Back.**_

Madeline spun around to see if any of the other patrons had noticed, and realized that the entire pub had gone silent. All the news broadcasts and sports matches on all the televisions had been replaced with Jim's grinning face. Sherlock stood suddenly from the table and spun to leave, Madeline hastily threw a couple of pounds down by her plate and hurried after him. As they left the pub she could hear someone say "wasn't that Sherlock Holmes?" behind them just before the door swung shut.

Sherlock was taking long strides back to Baker Street, and Madeline had a harder time keeping up with his furious strides in the snow and on the slippery sidewalk. He pulled up short once to check an intersection uncharacteristically and she skidded past him on the ice under her feet. He pulled her back by the collar of her coat and linked her elbow with his wordlessly to stabilize her before continuing on at a brisk pace with Madeline attached to his arm like a blushing price tag flapping wildly in the winter wind.

. . .

"John!" Sherlock shouted, storming into his flat and throwing his coat onto the table. "John, come here!"

"He's back home," Madeline reminded him, "I'll go phone him." She stepped into her flat hastily to call the doctor but only got his voicemail. When she told Sherlock John wasn't available he groaned and began to pace on the floor.

"How is he back? How! I saw him shoot himself. There's no way he could have survived that shot! Maybe… maybe someone is masquerading as him; or what- I need to think." The detective spun and sank into his chair, holding his head between his fingertips by his temples and entering his mind palace. Madeline sighed softly and walked to the door of 221 B.

"Miss Carver," Sherlock called after her, "Don't go anywhere unsupervised." She turned back around to respond to him, but Sherlock already had the focused look on his face that indicated he'd already entered his mind palace. Madeline wriggled her fingers in Sherlock's direction to say goodbye before heading back to her own flat for the night.

She made sure to lock all her doors and windows.

. . .

The next morning Madeline found Sherlock still in his mind palace. She steeled herself and lightly brushed the top of Sherlock's curls with her hand to rouse him. He didn't respond, so she hit the top of his hand gently with the flat of her palm a little harder. He grunted but stayed in his mind palace. Madeline bent over and poked the detective in the cheek delicately. He jerked backwards suddenly, jumping out of the chair and spinning to face an attacker. Madeline leapt back and held her hands up in front of her like a shield.

"Easy, just me." She said. Sherlock dropped his hands that had been curled into fists back to his sides and sighed.

"What do you want?" He said, Madeline gave an exaggerated sigh and swung her hands behind her.

"Relax, I was just wondering if you'd figured anything out about Jim yet." She answered. Sherlock scowled and took his pacing into the kitchen, Madeline followed him.

"So?" She prompted him. Sherlock slammed his hands on the counter and spun around, pacing back into the living room furiously.

"No, nothing. There's no feasible way he pulled it off! Nothing!" He ranted. Madeline took a seat in his chair and waited for the detective to wear himself out. John entered the flat when Sherlock was still full-on ranting, Madeline waved him inside and pointed to the doctor's chair, mouthing "take a seat" at him. They sat together and made small talk until Sherlock stopped short in the middle of a sentence and stared at them.

"What do you think?" He asked. John raised his eyebrows and pressed his hand to his chest innocently.

"What do we think? The Great Sherlock Holmes wants to know what _we_\- the common folk- think? I'm so flattered." He said, unaffected by the withering glance Sherlock gave him.

"Moriarty came back last night, John." The detective said shortly, cutting across the doctor and successfully rendering John speechless. Madeline briefly explained the previous night's events to John, who sat in silence and listened.

"Well… how are you sure it's him?" He rebutted almost hopefully, "I mean, you said yourself you saw him die-"He turned to Sherlock, who had his eyes closed and his fingers seemingly attached to his temples.

"I know what I said!" Sherlock snapped, taking his hands away from his face and pulling his violin from behind his chair and almost hitting Madeline with the violin bow. She couldn't help but feel excited when he put the instrument beneath his chin and began to play. She'd forgotten how much she'd missed him playing the violin when he was frustrated. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes while he began to play a light, quick tune. It sounded like a drinking song people had been singing in the background noise of the pub, and Madeline tapped her foot in time softly. John sighed and finally stood up to interrupt Sherlock.

"You can't solve this by playing on your violin. We've got to do something and figure this out before he does something." He said. Sherlock took the bow from the strings but kept the violin under his chin.

"I'm thinking. This is how I think." He snapped in reply. John shrugged and turned to leave, muttering about calling Lestrade and giving him an update.

"John! Don't go anywhere suspicious. I shouldn't have to tell you that but bad luck always seems to befall us." Sherlock called after him snarkily. The doctor pivoted and gave a little two finger salute from his temple with a flick of his wrist.

"Will do." He said before winking at Madeline and stepping outside. Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to playing. Madeline closed her eyes again and leaned her head back comfortably to listen to the music. Sherlock still sawed out the fast song, but soon it slowed into a thoughtful slow song that showed how little attention he was paying to the outside world. Inside he was thinking, and outside he was just moving to move. When he finally had to give up he pulled the violin from its perch with a frustrated growl and turned to demand Madeline get out of his chair so he could sit in it and think; but she was fast asleep. She was sprawled pathetically over the chair with her knees hooked over one armrest and her neck supported by the other as she curled her torso and back up on the seat. Sherlock debated poking her awake with his bow but decided against it after a heavy moral debate about what John would say. With a dejected sigh the detective resigned himself to sitting in John's chair and creeping into his mind palace again to work while Madeline slept the afternoon away.

**A.N.- Awwww, they were on a pseudo-date… dammit, Jim quit ruining my fluff. He was about to kiss her! **

**To explain Sherlock's aloofness: yes, he has had relationships before; but those were fake ones he instituted for his own gain. Not one he actually cared about. And he's also pretty damn prideful and won't really admit to himself that he has this "cowardly" thing called "love" in his system. **

**And of course if an enemy found out they were an item (not that they officially are, yet.) It'd be dangerous, so he's trying to rein his feelings in. (Hence why he didn't want to go to dinner with Madeline, even though John knew damn well what was going on and set it up.)**


	25. Chapter 25

**A.N.- This story is on a roll, holy crap! (Wheat roll, please… oh God I need to shut up.)**

**SheWhoScrawls- Thank you so much! I'm glad someone identifies with the characters (that's been my goal all along- to make them as realistically human as possible XD). I'm sorry though, I have those too and it's definitely no tea party sometimes. SuperWhoLock for the win! XD Thanks so much!**

**Em- Yay! All the small fluff pieces are adding up into one big cuddly teddy bear of feels!**

**ZTZ- Thank you!**

****NOTE** A lot of this chapter was suggested by shadajhoserj, joint effort! If you guys have any ideas feel free to send them in. **

**shadajhoserj- Thank you for all your help on this chapter, you totally kicked my writer's block to the curb! **

**Carry On My Wayward Son is STUCK in my head. (Doesn't help that I keep playing it…) What do you think? Should I do a Supernatural fic next? XD**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 25

Madeline woke and glanced at the clock in the kitchen.

"Oh my God, I'm late!" She muttered before trying to roll over. She failed and fell out of Sherlock's chair with a thud onto the cold floor. She popped back up a second later and almost scalded her nose on the mug of burnt-smelling coffee resting on the table beside where she'd been sleeping with a note attached to it. It smelled toxic, but Madeline still smiled at the gesture as she stumbled to her flat and snatched the note without reading it before grabbing her things and racing outside.

No sooner had she stepped outside than she was blinded by the repetitive flashes of bulbs and a cacophony of shouts that assaulted her as soon as the door opened. Madeline spun around and darted back inside, slamming the front door behind her and leaning against it while the lights continued to flash outside. She pulled the note out of her pocket and smirked dryly when she actually read it:

_**I'd advise you to go out the back. Best- SH**_

She huffed and stuffed the note into her pocket again, then crept out into the rubbish alleyway and kept going until she emerged at the end of Baker Street behind the row of buildings and could clearly see the throng of newspaper press and reporters crowding outside the apartments and all but breaking the door down. Madeline winced and took quick, short steps to St. Bart's with her head tucked between her shoulders and her scarf wrapped around her noose and lower face like a thug.

Sherlock was busy fumigating something rancid by the time she got to the lab. Madeline had to hold her breath as she passed him to get to the window and crack it open.

"What is that?" She spluttered, Sherlock kept working and didn't turn when he answered her.

"Glue," He said monotonously. Madeline wrinkled her nose and leaned out the window for fresh air. She saw a small group of people on the sidewalk below standing outside St. Bart's. One of them pointed upwards and swung a camera up to face her. Madeline jerked her head back inside, banging the base of her skull against the window sash in the process.

"Ouch," She muttered, scowling and rubbing the back of her neck. Sherlock was looking at Madeline curiously when she turned back around.

"There are reporters outside." Madeline explained, Sherlock shrugged and turned back to the exhuming glue in the tray in front of Sherlock.

"You didn't get the note I left?" He said snidely, "It was blatantly obvious."

"No, genius." She countered, "I mean they're outside of Bart's, too." Sherlock groaned and leaned his cheek on one hand.

"I thought I was careful enough on the way here. Someone must have seen us leaving the pub and alerted the media." He complained. "Now all the normal people will see washed out photographs of my everyday life on their mobiles or in the paper. Brilliant." Madeline waved her hand in front of her nose to circulate the glue fumes away from her mouth.

"Yeah well we can go out through the ambulance bay if we have to." She said. "And I did get your note," She added. "It was- helpful. And the coffee was a nice gesture."

"There was no coffee." Sherlock said indifferently, prodding the greyish lump in the tray and adding something to it that made the substance more gelatinous. Madeline pressed her lips together and "m-hmmed" before going to collect her paperwork for the day. Her first job was to decode a dispute about who was the rightful father of a little boy with blue eyes and AB blood type. She sighed and sketched out a quick Punnett Square based on the blood test analyses she'd been given. She tapped the pen against her temple and wrote down the percentage calculations for the possible heredities, but jumped when she sensed something close behind her.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked quietly. Madeline swatted at him over her shoulder and kept calculating the genetics.

"Making a Punnett Square." She said absently.

"What for?"

"It's what normal people do for genetics. I can't do big squares in my head like you probably can, there are too many letters and it's too important to mess up." Madeline murmured, nudging Sherlock away with her shoulder before she turned to the lab tubes and her computer. She slid three of the tubes into the microfuge capsule chamber and let the machine spin.

"So did you figure anything out about Moriarty?" Madeline asked, Sherlock's attempt at a pleasant face dropped into a scowl at the mention of the criminal's name. He sat back in front of the dish of glue and stirred it slightly, but only succeeded in dragging the gelatinous mass around the plate all at once. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned off the power under the dish before steepling his fingers under his chin and scowling at the tabletop.

"I have ideas, I just haven't had a sturdy lead yet." He said. Madeline cocked her head at him and spun around from the machine.

"You don't have anything do you,"

"Of course I do." Sherlock snapped. "I always do." Madeline clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth and leaned against the counter.

"Not this time. I don't think you can solve this one." She said solemnly. Sherlock snapped his head up and glared at her.

"You don't think so?" He said bitterly. Madeline winced at the way her words had come across then turned and took the tubes out of the microfuge chamber and hauled one of the microscopes onto the counter. Then she spooled the DNA and made sure to put it on a fresh slide before speaking to Sherlock again.

"That's not how I meant to say it." She said, Sherlock ignored her and went about trying to discreetly dump the failed glue experiment into Madeline's sink. She grabbed the smoking mess in a paper towel and gingerly carried it to the bio hazard waste bin and threw it away. "Seriously," Madeline continued, "You know what I meant." Sherlock avoided looking at her childishly and nodded. She smiled faintly and turned to the scope. She could hear her neighbor rummaging through her supply cabinets but ignored him politely. When she looked up from the first slide to make another he'd gathered bottles of chemicals in his arms and had splayed them across the counter. Madeline saw bromine and antimony amid the junk and curiously looked over. The detective ground up antimony and then poured bromine into a large flask. The brown gas swirled out and fell to the bottom of the vial first, then the liquid part of the element followed.

"A density of more than one." Madeline observed, Sherlock shushed her to demand silence and pinched some of the antimony between his fingers. He sprinkled the antimony into the flask and swirled the glass in his hand slightly. Madeline was both surprised and delighted to see a flame spark in the base of the flask, then go out.

"That's amazing!" She said.

"Chemistry one-oh-one." The detective said smugly. "I just needed to perform an experiment I knew would work." Madeline prodded his shoulder eagerly.

"Do it again." She said. Sherlock smirked and dropped another piece of antimony into the flask and tilted the glass so Madeline could see the coal that sprang to life in the bottom of the flask. She stared at it in an almost childish awe and reached for the antimony, but Sherlock slid the bowl away from her.

"Calm down, it's as if you never took a chemistry course." He chided her.

"I did, but that's just cool." Madeline responded, grinning at him before going back to her own work.

. . .

"I've got it!" Sherlock shouted, Madeline and John could hear him all the way from 221 C and gave each other nervous glances as they heard the detective come hurrying down the staircase like a stampede. He burst into 221 C like a hurricane, waving his hands frantically and wearing a rare smile.

"I've solved it!" He shouted again,

"What, the case?" Madeline asked, Sherlock spun around and shook his hands out like they were wet.

"No, no, no. Forget the case. Moriarty!" Madeline immediately sat forward to listen, and John was transfixed.

"It wasn't him in the first place!" Sherlock continued, not missing a beat. "There was no possible way Moriarty could have survived the shot he gave himself to the head, so it had to be someone posing as him. Just from looking at the mental images that I have from Moriarty's supposed 'return' it's obviously not his style. Even the image itself was shoddy- and don't say that was on purpose," Sherlock said, pointing his hand at John without looking. The doctor closed his mouth and swallowed his objection before settling back into his seat. "My deduction is that there is a commonplace hacker, some common lowlife who thought it would be trivial to stage Jim Moriarty's rebirth. He most likely saw us at the pub and decided to hack into the televisions in the area." Sherlock continued.

"I saw it on my TV, too." John interjected, "And I was on the other side of London."

"Fine, then the hacker bought or pirated serious software and wormed his way into televisions all over London." Sherlock said irately, waving his hand dismissively in front of his face. Madeline frowned but kept her objections to herself. Mrs. Hudson made her way down the stairs to 221 C to see what all the shouting was about, and Sherlock surprised her by spinning the old woman around and kissing her cheek before dashing back upstairs and crowing to himself.

"He's in a bit of a mood, isn't he?" Mrs. Hudson marveled, touching her hand to her cheek. Madeline shrugged and John looked up to the ceiling, where they could hear Sherlock's footsteps moving merrily about above their heads.

"Apparently he's solved another one." The landlady said to no one in particular. Madeline bit the inside of her cheek and took her medicine, hoping the detective's unimpressive and flimsy suspicion trying to pass as truth was true.

. . .

The media was outside the Baker Street apartments constantly. Their numbers would wane around mealtimes and later at night, but it was still always a hassle to leave the building to go to work or even to the supermarket without being harassed by reporters of cameras and microphones. All of London was attuned to the news that Sherlock Holmes had returned, and unfortunately as the only other tenant in Baker Street Madeline found more than one unflattering picture of herself in a newspaper or tabloid, sometimes with even more unflattering headlines above her head questioning her involvement, mental state, and relationship with Sherlock.

Nothing had happened, still. Sherlock was still as aloof as he'd always been; but Madeline would notice sometimes that he'd brush against her uncharacteristically or point something out while she was working alongside him in her lab. In a way she was almost grateful, if he'd morphed into some violently romantic hero it would have been an unpleasant change in demeanor; and Madeline wasn't sure how she would even deal with someone who openly gave affection all the time.

John became increasingly busy with work, and he'd been dropping hints during his visits that he was planning on proposing to Mary. Madeline did her best to give him tips when he asked for advice when dealing with women, and she did her best to answer them considering John had never held a relationship for very long (although that was partly due to Sherlock getting rid of them).

Sherlock seemed dead set on his theory about Moriarty's supposed resurrection, and he finally allowed Madeline to leave the slight house arrest he'd placed her under. John was a different matter seeing as he lived across town; but Sherlock finally quit badgering him to stay away from shady areas anyway.

"Screw these," Madeline groaned, knocking her temple with her fist out of aggravation. She had a Punnett Square drawn up in front of her with four rows on the top and four rows on the side. There were sixteen empty squares waiting impatiently to be filled with genetic possibilities, but Madeline wasn't having any luck. The letters split apart before her eyes then jumped back together like they were dancing. She rubbed at her eyes and fought back a yawn before going back to muttering at the Punnett Square under her breath.

"Could you be any louder?" Sherlock called from one of the other tables. Madeline groaned and scribbled all the squares out with her pen, then dropped her face into her arm. "If you'd eat and sleep more instead of spending nine-tenths of your day at the hospital you would have a better mental stabilization." Sherlock pointed out.

"Shut up," Madeline muttered from the crook of her arm. Sherlock stood and walked past her to grab one of the lamps with a neck that bent as easily as a snake's. He carried it back to his section of the table and made sure to let the metal base squeal on the tabletop. Madeline winced at the noise and Sherlock went about plugging the lamp in.

"I'll work that Putting Square-"

"Punnett Square." Madeline mumbled. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"That. I'll work it out for you if I can use your lamp." The detective offered emotionlessly. Madeline shrugged.

"You'd just use it anyway."

"I'm attempting to be helpful." Sherlock said, crossing his arms and regretting the decision in the first place. "Tell me the letters." He demanded. Madeline groaned and rolled her head to the side so he could hear her mumble the capital and lowercase genetics. Sherlock closed his eyes for a second and tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table before opening his eyes again.

"You've got a three-fourth's chance of blue eyes and blonde hair, the last fourth is green recessive and brown dominant with brown hair." He said suddenly before clicking the lamp on and going back to whatever he was working on. Madeline roused herself and scribbled the percentages down on the margins of the paper before swearing and deciding to go home for the day.

"Remember to eat something." Sherlock called after her.

"Remember to avoid fangirls through the ambulance bay." Madeline retorted as she wrapped her scarf around her neck and turned her coat up against the wind.

. . .

_"Miss Carver,"_

"What."

_"Miss Carver, I need you to do something for me."_

"What. Do you. Want." She groaned.

_"You need to come to the police station. Right away."_ Madeline rolled over in bed and dragged a hand down her face.

"What fo-or?" She complained. It took a second before Sherlock's voice crackled through her phone again.

_"I'm being held at the police department. The officers said I need someone to, um- collect me."_ He said.

"Goddamnit what did you do?" Madeline hissed.

_"Don't get angry with me," _Sherlock snapped back, _"They found me in a drug den and subsequently arrested me."_ Madeline sat upright in bed and tried to clear the haze of sleep from her head permanently.

"What were you even doing in a drug den?" She said lowly. She could hear Sherlock sigh on the other end.

"_It was for a case. Would you just hurry up and get here?"_ He said. Madeline groaned to herself and rolled out of bed.

"Don't tell me to hurry up, Sherlock Holmes. It's my day off and I'm half inclined to go back to sleep and let you stay there for the afternoon." She growled.

_"No, no, no. I'd appreciate it if you'd come and get me. There are some unsavory people here who recognize me, and unfortunately I've been restrained multiple times already."_ Sherlock said quickly. Madeline sighed and slipped into normal clothes before going outside and catching a cab.

"I cannot believe you." She growled, scribbling her name on the papers presented to her and pocketing the ID she'd been forced to show. Sherlock smiled at her tightly in her makeshift outfit of sweatpants and a screen-printed shirt with a cartoon character on it.

"It's for a case." He said with a shrug.

"For a _case_." Madeline repeated, "I am about to hit you in the nose, don't you dare start thinking about your _case_." Sherlock gave the bobby a smirk as he unlocked the handcuffs from around Sherlock's wrists but the expression disappeared when Madeline latched onto his arm and dragged him from the station to hail a cab.

"What were you even doing in a drug den?" She fretted, pushing Sherlock towards the cab insistently even though he tried to shake her off. "Get the hell in there, I'm not happy." She snapped when he turned to make a biting remark. The detective compliantly sat as far away from Madeline as he could and stared out the window absently.

"Seriously, just go- wash off." Madeline said when they'd reached Baker Street. Sherlock sent her a patronizing look before setting off for upstairs. Madeline rubbed at her face and checked her watch, it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. She returned to her flat feeling like a mother who had to pick her child up from after school detention for delinquency.

Which wasn't too far from the literal situation.

Madeline collapsed face first back onto her bed and was about to fall asleep when someone knocked on her door.

"Come in." She muttered into the pillow. Someone coughed outside and seemed to be fiddling with the door, something John, Mrs. Hudson, or Sherlock wouldn't do. She sat up right and realized the sound wasn't coming from her door, it was coming from her window. Madeline grabbed the nearest heavy object- a book- and slowly crept into her living room. A dirty figure spun around to face her and bared what looked like a lock pick at her. Madeline shrieked and struck the intruder a sturdy blow to the side of the face with the book. The stranger crumpled to the floor in a heap, and Madeline leapt back nervously.

"Sherlock!" She shouted to the ceiling, still clutching her book like a weapon and not daring to take her eyes off of the intruder. "Sherlock!" She shouted more loudly. She heard footsteps dart down the stairs and a second later Sherlock was at her door, wearing his blue bathrobe over a shirt and trousers. The slightly concerned (only slightly, mind) look on his face evaporated when he saw Madeline standing over the thief and ready to drop a textbook on his head.

"I think I killed him." She said in a mortified whisper.

"Well now you've done it." The detective snapped, striding over and snatching the book from Madeline. He prodded the man on her carpet gingerly with his foot, and the stranger moaned. "Brilliant, now we have to carry him upstairs." He complained, reaching down to grab the intruder by the hair. After a spectacular row about how to properly carry someone Sherlock grudgingly agreed to loop his arms under the stranger's and Madeline grabbed his feet. They awkwardly stumbled up the stairs to 221 B with the man swinging dangerously between them. Every step or so they would accidentally run him into the wall or the banister and he would wince, but they finally made it into the flat and deposited the intruder onto the carpet.

"Who is he?" Madeline whispered, even though the man hadn't regained consciousness yet. Sherlock rolled his eyes and massaged his temples with one hand.

"He's a member of my homeless network- no, I'm not going to elaborate." He snapped, obviously still irate that she'd knocked out one of his "informants". When the man finally began to wake up again Madeline couldn't help but take a small step back. He looked threatening in every sense of the word, with scars and scrapes all over his face and arms that were covered with an explicit layer of grime and dirt.

_Don't judge people by scars._ She reminded herself almost bitterly. Sherlock took his seat in his chair and Madeline stood awkwardly by the couch as the stranger pushed himself to his feet and started to talk with the detective.

"You said 221-"

"Yes, 221 _B_ not_ C_. I didn't ask you to terrorize my neighbor." Sherlock returned dryly, the man shrugged and pulled a dirty piece of paper from his pocket and passed it off to the detective. Sherlock's eyes crinkled slightly in subtle excitement and he pocketed the paper and replaced the empty spot in the stranger's hand with three pound notes. The intruder wrinkled his nose at the pay and stuffed the bills into his pocket before nodding his head to Sherlock and rounding on Madeline.

"And what about my pay from you?" He demanded.

"Sorry?" She said, taking a tiny shift backwards.

"You hit me in the bloody head, you've gotta pay that off." The stranger snapped. Madeline looked around him and saw Sherlock watching with a bored look on his face, but still alert. The man took a threatening step forward and Madeline swung her arms around, catching the man again in the head with a book. He fell to the floor limply with a groan.

"Will you quit beating my informants senseless?" Sherlock said, standing from his chair and confiscating the book Madeline had picked up from the coffee table. He was about to say something else when he grew very still and quiet. Sherlock quickly darted to the window and growled quietly.

"Leave the murder weapon and help me move him to the bedroom." He snapped to Madeline.

"What? Why?" She asked.

"Shut up and hurry," Sherlock said hurriedly. "Mycroft is here." That got her motivated. They staggered down the hall and deposited the stranger less-than-gracefully in John's former room and shut the door. When they made it back into the living room Mycroft was waiting smugly for them in John's chair.

"Not what it looks like." Sherlock said indifferently as he nonchalantly took a seat across from his brother and Madeline walked to the door. She looked over her shoulder at the two brothers and decided against her better judgment to stay and listen to their conversation. She coolly picked up the book she'd just beat a man unconscious with and settled into a corner of the couch with the pages hiding her face. Mycroft raised his eyebrows pointedly at her and cleared his throat.

"She'll be fine, if anything she'll referee the fistfights." Sherlock said nonchalantly. Madeline couldn't see, but she heard a paper rustle from across the room and guessed Mycroft was showing Sherlock something. Everything was quiet for a few minutes until Sherlock addressed her.

"Do you hear that, Miss Carver? I think Mrs. Hudson might be having a stroke. Go check on her and make sure she didn't spill any tea on her frocks." He said pointedly. Madeline bit the inside of her cheek and made her way out of the flat, closing the door behind her. She had only gone down about one of the stairs when she heard Sherlock say coldly, "There, are you satisfied now?" An invisible rope around Madeline's waist was tugging her back to the door before she knew it, and she knelt quietly outside the door to eavesdrop on the Holmes' apparently heated discussion.

"So a drug den. How low you've fallen." Mycroft said mockingly. "The embarrassing part is it showed up straightaway on our monitors and you didn't contact me beforehand for help."

"Really? I thought you would have been embarrassed to admit relation to me." Sherlock observed snidely.

"Only when you're being brash." Mycroft returned with equal gall. Madeline bit back a small laugh at the British catfight ten feet away from her. The urge disappeared, though when she heard Mycroft's voice jump into a businesslike manner.

"You don't really believe he's gone, do you?"

"Of course not. That was just to dissuade John and Miss Carver." Sherlock's voice dropped to a lower tone that made the back of Madeline's neck itch. "So I want you to be able to protect them. Assign a constant bodyguard if you have to." The younger Holmes demanded. Madeline could hear Mycroft's umbrella thump against the floor periodically, showing how displeased he was with the proposal.

"I'm not in the habit of giving out men to protect people we don't need." Mycroft said.

"That's irrelevant, if you want something from me you're going to have to give a little _brother_." Sherlock snapped back. Madeline could envision Mycroft's steady smirk aimed at the detective.

"Come now, aren't you capable of protecting them? It's like buying a pet, if you can't take care of them you can't keep them." He pointed out.

"I don't need to _take care of them_. I just need them to be monitored while I track him down." Sherlock retorted, Madeline felt like there was ice water searing in her veins. So he'd lied to her. Moriarty was alive.

"Need and want are two different things, Sherlock." Mycroft reprimanded sharply, and from the creaking of the leather Madeline could tell he'd risen from the chair. "You do realize if you keep showing soft spots he's going to exploit them." The older brother said a little more quietly, "Do actually watch your step." Madeline scrambled away from the door and had made it halfway down the stairs when she heard the door open behind her. She continued down the stairs but stopped at the bottom. Mycroft stepped past her with a smirk that showed he knew she'd been listening.

"Please keep him _out_ of prison, this time." He said snidely before opening his umbrella to the misting rain outside and leaving. Madeline bit the inside of her cheek and debated going back to her flat, but trudged back to 221 B, dragged by the rope around her waist. She could hear Sherlock picking at his violin furiously inside and slowly nudged the door open. He ignored her and kept on acoustically playing the violin like a small mandolin. She sat in John's chair and awkwardly crossed her legs and uncrossed them to try and make herself comfortable.

"So what leads did you get from your… escapade today?" Madeline asked, trying to initiate conversation with the detective. He frowned and tuned the violin a little farther, and Madeline was afraid the strings would snap from the tension he was exerting on them. Finally he laid the instrument across his lap and acknowledged her.

"It was a lead from the man you beat twice today." He said coldly, and it occurred briefly to Madeline that he'd been tuning the violin to calm himself down from his confrontation with his brother before talking to her. She nodded silently and kept listening. "Apparently the dead man was a pharmacist, and one of the men in that specific den had been ranting about someone by the same name about a week prior to the murder." Sherlock continued, "So I went undercover to try and find him."

"Did you?" Madeline asked. Sherlock canted his eyes at her and smirked slightly.

"Of course, but when the police got there after I'd let them know they arrested me as well. Apparently they can't do their jobs no matter what the condition." He added.

"You didn't- take anything while you were there, did you?" Madeline asked cautiously. Sherlock shrugged and picked up his violin again, tugging at the strings cautiously.

"I might have injected one or two syringes of something into myself, but it's worn off already." The detective said dismissively. Madeline rubbed at her face exasperatedly.

"You're stupid." She said angrily, "Seriously, too much of that can stop your heart okay? Don't ever inject something into yourself again, hear me? Goddamn…" She fumed quietly. "And while I'm still mad at you- why didn't you tell John and me that Jim was still alive?" She snapped. Sherlock didn't look the least bit surprised that she'd overheard the conversation, just a little uncomfortable.

"You didn't need to know." He said finally. "It's something for me to worry about and deal with, not for you and John to fret over."

"For someone who claims to not be all good you sure put a lot of effort into being the hero." Madeline muttered, Sherlock cut her a glare and folded his arms with his violin trapped underneath them against his chest. "I don't see why you couldn't trust us with the information, but Mycroft is on a first to know basis." She continued.

"Maybe I didn't tell you because I knew you'd overreact or panic." Sherlock snapped back. Madeline was about to make a biting comment she might regret later when her alarm on her phone went off as an indication to take her medicine. She turned it off and cordially bid Sherlock a good afternoon, then made her way back to her flat to grab her medications. Madeline chased the rancid pills down with water while Sherry paced underneath her feet with her tail brushing Madeline's calves. She could feel the tense knot in her stomach begin to loosen itself slightly; and could also hear the man she and Sherlock had stashed in John's bedroom waking up and stumbling down the stairs and out the front door, swearing like a sailor. Madeline collapsed onto her bed, determined to sleep for the rest of the day.

"Hell of a day off," She said, then fell asleep.

**A.N.- Yay! It's come to light that Jim's back.**

**Reviews and plot ideas are welcome.**

**The last half of this chapter is composed mainly of shadajoserj's ideas. Go check out her works!**

**Thanks!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A.N.- Whoaaa, over 6,000 views this month? Jeez you guys! **

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**As you know (maybe) semester finals are coming up… so that means I have to actually study for something. Which translates to less writing time. Sorry, but after my exams are done I'll probably wrap this story up nice and tight for you guys. (Ew.) No loose ends!**

**SheWhoScrawls- Thanks, we did that for an extra class I'm taking for kicks and I could. Not. Get. Over. It. Glad you like it so far!**

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The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 26

"Miss Carver, Miss Carver!"

"Over here, Miss Carver!"

"Madeline, can we get a statement?"

"Miss Carver!" Madeline was losing her patience with the media always swarming on the doorstep. They'd badger her as soon as she turned onto Baker Street, then they'd flock back to the doorstep and try and vie for a picture of the doorknob or something. If she was honest with herself, Madeline had the strong urge to turn and punch the next person who asked for her statement. She began to bury her face in her phone or in a book to avoid the prodding questions from the media; but there was one pretentious woman who got the best of her.

"Miss Carver, what do you think of your and Sherlock Holmes' relationship? Do you see yourself together in the near future?" The reporter had shouted, Sherlock's name snagging Madeline's attention as she tried to elbow her way to the front door.

"Yeah, whatever." She muttered before even realizing what she'd answered. By the time she had the reporter had winked an eye heavy with eyeliner at her and disappeared into the crowd after shouting, "Thanks for the scoop!" over her shoulder. Madeline growled and shoved her way inside and made a not to avoid looking at Sherlock for the rest of the day while the reporter's impertinent question swam around in her head. Likewise he ignored her and paced around the flat agitatedly in lack of a new case. She could hear him moving between the living room and the kitchen, and she also heard a couple of gunshots fired into the wall out of frustration. She unlocked the door to her flat and stepped inside, realizing that Sherry hadn't stalked up to greet her.

Madeline strolled through her flat cautiously and called for her cat, she heard a fervent scratching from somewhere in her apartment and sprinted to her closet. As soon as she opened the door Sherry streaked past her legs with a hiss to scramble under the couch. Madeline tried to coax the cat out from under the couch, but Sherry yowled and refused to come out. Madeline stood cautiously and searched the rest of her flat for any evidence of a break in or who might have shut Sherry in the closet but chalked it up to her own carelessness. She eventually coaxed Sherry out and pulled the cat into her lap gingerly and sat in her chair with a restless Sherry and a book. She'd been reading for about half an hour when she realized something.

Madeline gently lowered Sherry from her lap and reopened her closet door. She gingerly kicked aside some of the clothes and shoes lying on the floor of the closet and started when her foot hit something solid. Madeline knelt down and picked up a small package that looked like a jewelry box necklaces came packaged in. It was about four inches square and had an odd texture. Madeline opened it curiously, thinking it was a missed gift from someone, and froze cold.

The box contained a scrap of paper that was folded around a small blade that looked like it had been separated from the tip of an Exact-o knife. Madeline pinched the blade between her forefinger and thumb shakily and unfolded the note. It didn't say anything, but there was a smiley face drawn into the paper with a marker. She didn't know if it was on purpose or on accident, but the paper looked like it had gotten wet at some point because the ink on the smiley face was bleeding a little and made the note look like it was crying. Madeline dropped the note and spun around to grab her medicine and dissuade the uneasy feeling that was dripping down her throat into her stomach.

She poured her normal dosage into her hand and stared at them blankly for a second, then poured a couple more of the blue pills into her hand. She added more than one of the small black pills into her palm and raised her hand to her mouth until the side of her palm rested on her lip. In a sudden bold spurt Madeline tipped her head back and dropped the pills into her mouth, wriggling her fingers to make sure all the medicine made it past her lips.

As soon as she tasted the pills on her tongue her mind cleared and she bent over the sink, gagging and choking as she tried to force them from her mouth. Most of them fell to the bottom of the sink with metallic _pings_, and Madeline had to force herself to gag the rest up to make sure they didn't overdose her system. Eyes watering, she turned around and smiled at Sherry, who had a slightly concerned expression (or as concerned as a cat could be) then bent to pick up the note. Madeline knew exactly who the note was from, but the thought that they'd gotten into her flat terrified her. She felt ashamed of herself for brash attempt at an overdose, especially when she had been recovering so well.

Madeline regarded the note carefully with its bleeding expression and its accompanying Exact-o blade. She stuffed the note in her pocket and drew the blade across her stomach lightly, not pressing down much but enough to draw small beads of blood to the surface like a cat scratch. The tension in her chest seemed to unwind and dissolve, moving down Madeline's torso towards the tiny cut. She exhaled deeply and practiced a wary smile in the window above the sink before grabbing Sherry and walking upstairs.

"Hey, Sherlock?" Madeline said cautiously, shielding Sherry a little with her arms in case of flying bullets of boredom. The detective grunted with his back to her as he stared out the window angrily. Madeline took his silence as a cue to go on, and she pet Sherry gently before continuing. "Could I stay in John's room for a day or so?" She mumbled quietly.

"It's plausible," Sherlock said emotionlessly from the window. "But why?" Madeline had just opened her mouth to explain her reasons when Sherlock cut across her.

"If the trajectory of the bullet tore his jaw from his face the shot would have had to have been taken from a different angle, perhaps lower aiming up… but the headrest would be in the way!" He fumed. Madeline smiled a little bit but made sure she didn't forget her original intentions before launching into a different subject.

"Still working on the car case?" She said, "I thought you'd solved it already, hence the boredom and gunshots." Sherlock spun around quickly in surprise, and it didn't shock Madeline that he'd been so deep in thought he hadn't heard her come in.

"What do you want?" He responded dismissively, "I thought you had work at St. Bart's today." Madeline twisted her wrist inside the circle of her other hand agitatedly, and of course Sherlock noticed.

"No, I have today off again." Madeline said quietly, "And anyway if I had been at work I would've been home by now." She glanced at the clock in the kitchen that was broadcasting the time as a quarter to six.

"Unless the press outside detained you." Sherlock pointed out. Madeline let a hollow laugh escape from her chest effortlessly, but she was still on edge about something she couldn't remember for the life of her. She dug through her memory until she found the little box and felt the uneasiness come flooding back all at once. Madeline felt a little dizzy and leaned against the wall, blinking back the tiny flecks of white that sprinted across her vision like fleeing doves. Sherlock arched an eyebrow curiously as she smiled at him in what she hoped was a convincing manner. Her memory blanked out for a second until the vividly threatening image of the box came back to mind and making her hope that she'd gotten the majority of the pills out of her stomach.

"Yeah they're all pretty crazy, so I was wondering if I could- um, sleep in John's old room?" Madeline said all at once, tripping over the words a little bit and biting her tongue once she'd gotten them all out. Sherlock furrowed his brow skeptically and fully turned to face her.

"Why would you bring your _animal_ with you for an overnight in the spare room?" He pointed out. Madeline stroked Sherry in her arms slowly and shifted her weight to keep from swaying.

"Yeah, um I was wondering if I could sleep there for a few days? The media outside is crazy and since my flat is on ground level, I, um…" She trailed off, trying to come up with something to back up her false reasoning. Sherlock shrugged and turned to stare out the window inanimately.

"As long as you aren't a nuisance." He said, waving his hand dismissively. Madeline almost felt her knees buckle in relief as she left Sherry in John's room and returned to her flat to grab some of her things. At least if something did happen she'd be in closer proximity to Sherlock, and as much as Madeline hated the thought of annoying or inconveniencing him she had to admit she felt much safer when the consulting detective was near.

Sherlock's jaw twitched when she staggered back into 221 B with a medium sized suitcase dragging behind her. Something had frightened her, and it wasn't the inappropriate needling of the press. For lack of a better case he decided to put his boredom to use and figure it out, taking on the not-so-mysterious case of Madeline Carver once again.

. . .

"B- 24."

"Miss. C-7."

"Yeah, yeah. Hit it." Madeline dejectedly stuck a red plastic peg into her side of the game board. In an effort to calm herself down and to dissuade Sherlock's apparent boredom she'd suggested they play board games together (even though Sherlock had beaten her at everything they played and gloated about it). She'd slept in John's old room for the past two days and to her amazement Sherlock hadn't complained about her more than constant presence in his flat. No apparent cases had presented themselves to Sherlock, so he'd sulked around the flat until Madeline had slammed boxes of games on his kitchen counter and demanded they do something.

Madeline lay on her stomach with her feet balanced in the air behind her on one side of the board while Sherlock sat with his legs crossed over each other and his fingers wrapped around his chin as he scrutinized his side of the playing field. Madeline did her best not to let her eyes linger on any one place for too long on her game board or Sherlock would figure out where she'd placed her pieces and win the game in only a few turns. The curtains by the window fluttered lazily and Madeline could feel excitement bloom in her chest when she heard John's heavy footsteps start up the stairs. She pushed herself to her feet, wincing a little as the unhealed cut on her stomach protested against the friction of the carpet, and met John at the door. She dragged him inside and sat the doctor down at an angle between her and Sherlock.

"Alright, soldier I need you to help me. Sherlock keeps on beating me." She said.

"That's because you put your playing pieces in the same spots every time." Sherlock said disinterestedly. Madeline huffed and tried to work out a covert game strategy with John, who still was clueless as to what Sherlock Holmes was doing on the floor playing Battleship with a grown woman on a mania swing.

John and Madeline did their best to win the next round against Sherlock in a two-against-one effort, but the detective beat them within the first eight minutes of the game and stood to stretch.

"John, you play a game with Miss Carver. I have things to do." He said abruptly before grabbing his coat and leaving. Madeline stared blankly after him and leaned her head onto her fist exasperatedly.

"Go ahead," She said, starting to reset the board for a new game with a fierce determination to win. "He's probably going to go bug Lestrade at the station and see if there's a case for him. Nothing's been coming up lately." John's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

"Are you kidding? My email is still connected to my blog, and it's been blowing up with case requests lately. I looked at the blog this morning and apparently Sherlock's declined all of the cases, even the kind he likes." The doctor relayed. Madeline furrowed her brow and concentrated on the board, but in reality her mind was elsewhere.

_Why decline all those cases? He hates not having work. Maybe he- did he decline them for me?_ Her thoughts were broken by John snapping his fingers and landing a severe blow directly onto one of Madeline's playing pieces. Fully back in the present, she groaned and buried her face in her arms, muttering about unfair advantages and military expertise. John waited until Sherlock returned an hour later to tell them why they'd come.

"So I'm thinking of proposing to Mary," He said nonchalantly, sliding a chess piece across the board towards Madeline lazily. She lunged across the board and tackled the doctor in a hug.

"You finally did it! Did she say yes? Oh my God congratulations John!" She squealed in delight. Sherlock shrugged in his chair and lifted his violin to his chin uninterestedly.

"Oh bravo, how much money will she have you spend on wedding invitations?" He said snarkily. Madeline pursed her lips at the detective before turning back to John happily and begging him to tell her details. John had just begun to explain his proposal when Sherlock began to play his violin obnoxiously Madeline glared at him and gestured for John to go on. The doctor raised his voice and explained how he had sprung the question on her and how Mary had replied. Sherlock gradually softened his playing until it faded into soft background music until John had finished. As soon as he had the detective gingerly set his violin across his lap and leaned forward to pin his chin between his hands methodically.

"Lovely John, everyone is happy for you and secretly unamused. Now Miss Carver, I realized you've been avoiding input on any of the cases as of late, and although the silence has been wonderful I'd appreciate it if you would take on a case with me." He said carefully, the tips of his ears turning red as he stared at the carpet. When he looked up to survey Madeline's reaction his hopefulness dissolved into irritation at the sight of Madeline whispering to John furiously, but not furtively. Sherlock cleared his throat and heard Madeline whisper, "He's just a little jealous of Mary," before turning to acknowledge him. The detective huffed and abbreviated his request in a clipped tone.

"Assist me on a case." He demanded, Madeline's smile disappeared and she shook her head quickly.

"No, you can do it yourself. Or maybe take John with you." She suggested, waving her hands in front of her face jokingly but still going a little pale.

"Oh come on, don't be cowardly." Sherlock reprimanded, "I was going to ask John as well, and since you're not working you need to do something besides taking up space in my flat, namely something productive like helping."

"I don't want to." Madeline said pointedly, "Seriously, I can't. I don't want to be anywhere near dead people or have anything to do with them." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

"Well I'm not going to allow you to loiter around my flat. If you're not going to help with anything than you can go back to sleeping in your own flat." He declared, Madeline leaned back a little bit and shook her head. Sherlock noted that her hand jumped to the divot in her collarbone in a defensive way and filed the information away. A second later she relented.

"Fine." Madeline said defeatedly, "I'll look at a case; but I really don't want to…" She gripped her wrist with her other hand tightly and scowled at her fingers. John gave her a sympathetic look and pushed himself to his feet, Madeline did the same and Sherlock rose from his chair emphatically. He took two strides to the desk and sat down in front of the laptop, scrolling through all the cases that must have been waiting desperately for his responses. Madeline furrowed her brow and threw John a sideways glance. The doctor shrugged in a "beats me" motion and moved to stand behind Sherlock. Madeline followed him and took a place behind the detective's left shoulder. He scrolled impossibly fast through all the case requests like he'd already seen them all and knew which ones he was looking for. Sherlock stopped on one case and clicked on its description.

"Wife, husband, and child. Each found with multiple stab wounds to the chest and face." He read out delightedly. Madeline winced and gave a small noise of disapproval and Sherlock huffed and went back to scrolling. John raised his eyebrows in amusement and nudged Madeline approvingly.

"He actually gives a damn." The doctor whispered, Sherlock growled irritatedly and pulled up another case request.

"Fine, look at this one. Brother-sister twins kidnapped, the brother's body turned up in the tube station two days ago. The sister is still missing." He suggested, turning and staring at Madeline with a pleading expression. For whatever reason he'd turned down the multitudes of cases it was still killing him. Madeline sighed and swallowed the protest she wanted to launch at the computer screen.

"Yeah alright." She agreed finally. Sherlock's eyes lit up and he jumped up from the desk chair excitedly and spun Madeline around by her shoulders so he could get past her and make it to the door.

"Ah great! Brilliant, grab your coat! I've already got leads on the girl, let's get going!" With that he swept out of the flat with John and Madeline hurrying behind him. For the first time since he'd returned John, Madeline, and Sherlock were all working together on a case. Everything felt like it had before, except for the dark nagging feeling that was tugging at Madeline's stomach. The little box she'd found kept pushing its way to the front of her mind menacingly. Madeline could feel the cut on her stomach as she moved to keep up with Sherlock, and regretted inflicting it on herself in the first place in her panic.

She had to admit, though; the pain had felt good.

Sherlock led John and Madeline to Hammersmith Station and stopped short at the vivid line of police tape lining off the area where the boy's body had been found. He gave Madeline a cautious glance before ducking under the tape and striding towards the crime scene. Only a few officers were on duty at the scene, and they stepped aside as soon as they saw Sherlock approach. He inclined his head to them and knelt down to survey the chalk outline sketched onto the brick of the station.

The air pressure shifted slightly as a train squeezed down the tunnel and slowed to an abrupt stop in the station. Madeline was a little surprised that the station hadn't been shut down for investigation, but then again Hammersmith was a main tube transfer point for almost all the London tube lines. The little white box took an opportunity to jump into Madeline's thoughts again, and she quickly blinked and tried to push it away.

She turned around and saw Sherlock staring at her pointedly with John beside him. The detective cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows slightly and Madeline realized he must have been calling her over while she was absorbed in thought. She shuffled over to her neighbors and tried to avoid looking at the burgundy splotches staining the edges of the chalk outline ominously. Sherlock waited until she'd reached them before bending down and examining the area.

"Molly said the boy had no signs of physical trauma, so something must have happened to him internally." He called over his shoulder.

"Poisoning?" Madeline said meekly, Sherlock rolled his eyes with his back to her and went back to work.

"Of course, but what exactly I'm not sure." He mused more to himself than to anyone else.

"But what about the blood?" John pointed out, "How'd that get there if he was drugged or poisoned?" Sherlock sighed and pushed himself to his feet from where he'd been kneeling.

"Poisons can cause victims to bleed from multiple orifices. But the problem will be finding the specific poison used. If it's common it'll be nearly impossible to track down its owner, but at least if it's a rare or not commonly found substance it might be easier to find." He murmured.

"Have you even seen the body yet?" John asked impatiently, glancing at his watch, then at the clock on the station wall like he was late for something.

"Mm no, but I plan to pay Miss Hooper a visit within the next few hours." Sherlock amended, "If you have somewhere to be John then go. Best not to keep your fiancée waiting." He added coldly. John folded his arms and shifted his weight, portraying how uninclined he was to leaving.

Madeline shrugged and chose to take a step back from the crime scene as another train hissed into the station and took on more passengers. Some of the people walking by raised their phones to take pictures or videos of Madeline and John as well as Sherlock dancing around the crime scene like a boy in a toy shop; but John would always politely but firmly shoo the spectators away and remind them to go about their day. They stood idly outside the yellow barrier of police tape for about half an hour before Sherlock waltzed out of the quarantined zone with a self-pleased smile on his face.

"We're going to St. Bart's," He announced, "I've got work to do." John sighed and glanced at his watch again almost wistfully before setting off after the detective with Madeline trailing behind them.

. . .

"Molly you changed your hair again."

"Oh no, not really."

"I like it, would you mind pulling out the boy's body from slot 17-D?" Sherlock said pleasantly, spreading a painful looking grin across his face as Molly blushed and hurried to pull the twin boy's body out of his freezer tray. Sherlock hummed in approval as he circled the body on the table. Molly stood off to the side with Madeline and fidgeted with her hair subconsciously. The detective took a small swab sample of the inside of the boy's cheek, then asked for Molly to cut the stomach open.

Madeline had to leave the room for that.

When she came back in Sherlock had amassed a small pile of sample bottles and bags from the body. They consisted mainly of cell sampled from the boy's intestine and tissue from his "eyes and ears" which according to Sherlock had blood "caked around the edges of both orifices unnaturally" and almost made Madeline leave the morgue again. She'd gingerly begun to gather up the sampled from the table and arrange them in a plastic bag to bring back to Baker Street when Sherlock shouted excitedly and sprang back from the autopsy table like he'd been shocked. Both Molly and Madeline jumped in surprise at the sudden noise that sounded like a cat being shot and looked to Sherlock.

"I found it! Brilliant, Miss Hooper bag this one up, too." He demanded, thrusting a cotton swab at Molly, who took it gingerly. Sherlock spun around to Madeline giddily and blindly kissed her on the mouth for a brief second. He jumped away excitedly when Molly handed him the last sample bag and swept out of the morgue with a satisfied grin. Madeline waved her fingers at Molly hastily before following the detective outside and marveling at the uncanny feel of his lips on hers. John was waiting outside the hospital with a cab waiting and raised his eyebrows at his giddy ex-flatmate. Sherlock grinned triumphantly at the doctor and ducked into the cab, Madeline followed him with a small shrug and a smile before John climbed in himself and directed the cabbie back to Baker Street.

. . .

"It's ricin and turpentine!" Sherlock crowed, messing with the bottles in the kitchen and dumping the samples he'd collected onto individual petri dishes. Madeline blinked and turned to John for a translation.

"Early med school stuff. Ricin gets inside the cells and keeps them from making the proteins they need for respiration and reproduction. It's found-"

"In the waste product of castor oil produced from castor beans." Sherlock cut across him, turning on his microscope and adding drops of vibrant dye to half of the samples. John gave the detective a glare and turned back to explaining.

"And the turpentine-"He began again.

"I know that, it comes from pine. So the only way to be poisoned by the turpentine oil is to swallow it." Madeline said brightly, pleased with herself to actually understand a concept without John or Sherlock having to explain it. The detective's growl of frustration brought her attention back to him.

"The cells from the stomach and heart aren't inflamed! But the liver and kidney cells have no function anymore… ugh it's not right!" He fumed. "There's no turpentine!" Sherlock pulled gloves onto his hands angrily and turned back to his experiment on the table.

"No reaction. Then it's just ricin, but how would the boy's ears have bled? The poison only enflames the ears and enlarges arteries… so something else must have triggered the bleeding." He muttered under his breath. Madeline leaned onto the table across from him to hear him better. Sherlock's quiet mumbling jumped six decibels into an excited shout as he slapped the palm of his hand on the table with a sound thud. Madeline jumped back and John started in surprise.

"That's it! He was kept somewhere cold, and there _was_ blunt force trauma- but not a marring kind. The force of something to or on his body forced the already enlarged capillaries to burst, and the cold temperature of wherever he was confined made the blood coagulate with mild hypothermia. Madeline blinked and tried to sort out the information Sherlock had blasted at her, but by the time she had he was already on a completely different level of discussion.

"John, go to Bart's and ask Molly to examine the boy's liver and intestine again- only the little intestine; then I want you to tell her to look into his ears again." He demanded, pointing his finger at John without looking up from the table. John groaned and grabbed his coat, then left while muttering under his breath about missed engagements. Sherlock fiddled with his samples for a few more minutes before reaching a sound stopping point and taking a seat in his chair. He shut his eyes and knitted his fingers beneath his chin as he sank into his mind palace. Madeline sighed and took a seat across from him in John's chair, pulling her legs beneath her and beginning to work on paperwork.

After a while she looked up absently and saw Sherlock's fingers jerking in different directions like he was gesturing to or moving something. He murmured under his breath incoherently and kept his eyes closed until Madeline threw her pen at him and cleared her throat. He jerked out of his mind palace and stared at her with a surprised expression like he'd had cold water dumped on him.

"What?" He snapped, "I was thinking." Madeline shrugged at him and tapped her papers into order neatly.

"I was just wondering about that boy. What makes you think his eardrums ruptured because of the richitum-"

"Ricin." Sherlock corrected.

"Richin." Madeline amended. "And the cold temperature? It's not a strong lead, and you and Molly didn't find anything about his eardrums while we were at Bart's today." She pointed out.

"We did beforehand." Sherlock said crossly, obviously portraying how much he wanted to get back to his mind palace and think but Madeline was still curious.

"Okay but how did you know?" She said, "This isn't making much sense."

"Molly." Sherlock responded shortly.

"But how'd she find that out in a _morgue_?" Madeline continued, Sherlock scoffed.

"How do you think? She stuck a camera in his ear. Why is it of importance to you?" He snapped. Madeline sighed and leaned onto her hand out of boredom.

"Sorry, I just don't want to do my paperwork. It's a pain." She complained. Sherlock muttered something about what else was a pain and tried to go back to thinking. Madeline quickly walked to John's bedroom and took her medicine, specifically counting out the proper number of pills and taking them as quickly as possible without choking. Her irrational attempt at an overdose was petty, but it had still shaken her. Not to mention the visions of the little white box that danced through her head tauntingly. When she returned to the living room Sherlock was already immersed in his mind palace again with a semi-focused look spread across his face.

"So…" Madeline began. Sherlock's concentrated expression evaporated instantly into one of annoyance and chagrin as he turned to face her.

"What." He intoned dully. Madeline shrugged and took her seat across from him, already feeling her medicine begin to calm her pendulum of moods.

"How does your mind palace work?" She asked, "You use it all the time but have never really explained it to me." Sherlock groaned and rolled his head back against the back of his chair exasperatedly. For someone who had been terrified and begged to stay with him the last few days Madeline had become increasingly distracting from work. He leaned forward and dragged his hands down his face before answering her to the best of his ability.

"I store information in an immaterial structure within my mind. Different rooms house different things, and everything has its rightful place." He said. Madeline tapped her nose with her newly reclaimed pen and furrowed her brow.

"So do you devote rooms to memories, too? What about people, do they have specific areas?" She asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes and opted to answer her more encroaching question instead of the more placid one, surprising himself a little bit.

"If they're important enough, yes." He said. Madeline's eyes brightened with a happy glint as a tiny smile toyed on her lips.

"So what do I have? A wing or something?" She teased. Sherlock raised an eyebrow curiously at her and scoffed.

"Of course not, John has a wing." He said. Madeline felt a little piece of her insides twinge in pain at the detective's cold response, but she kept up her smile and managed a polite, "Oh," Before settling back down with her paperwork. Sherlock surprised her by speaking of his own accord some time later.

"There are bits of you scattered all over my mind palace. It would be too strenuous to go and collect all of them for one wing. And besides, a wing wouldn't be big enough." He said behind a dismissive front, pushing the words out all at once and letting them hang in the air tersely for a second. Madeline smiled up at him through a couple stray strands of her hair before turning back to her paperwork with the real intention of actually getting it done.

"Good to know," She murmured.

**A.N.- He can be so sweet when he wants to be… or when he doesn't mean to be. Pick your poison guys. (Death by sweet fluff- diabeetus!) Anyway hope you guys liked this chapter, again some of the ideas and almost the whole chapter were suggested/ reviewed by my awesome beta shadajoserj. Go check her stuff out!**

**I promised myself that there was going to be action in this chapter… sorry. But the note is a start! Jim will officially be back next chapter- I swear it on mah life. (Since everyone keeps prodding and asking- **_**fine.**_** I'm trying to keep you in the dark to make it more fun but you keep ruining ittttttt!) XD**

**Thanks!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A.N.- This chapter was reviewed by my beta shadajoserj- go check her stuff out!**

**Grace- Thanks! I'm really excited because it's a national competing thing and that might just make me the youngest competitor out of all college sports. (Which is less likely, there's probably someone better- 'MURICA!) And be careful not to choke on the Sherlock fluff! People have said it's been so fluffy lately they could gag on it.**

**Shadajoserj- Ayyyy, I got it up! And THANK YOU for the MARVELOUS fan art! I'm lovin' it! *insert McDonald's theme***

**Reviews and ideas are welcome!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 27

"So how's the wedding planning coming?" Madeline asked, gingerly folding her clothes and dropping them into the basket by her feet. John almost beamed at her when he put down the newspaper he'd been holding and crossed his legs pleasantly.

"Yeah actually it's going really well. Mary wants teal and chocolate brown for the wedding colors." He said, throwing a short scowl at Sherlock when the detective made an offensive noise from his workstation in the kitchen. Madeline waved her hand in the air flippantly to get John's attention back and politely urged him to continue. He leaned towards her and lowed his voice considerably before continuing.

"And I was thinking of having Sherlock be my best man." He whispered, Madeline leaned back and clapped her hands gleefully.

"I think that'd be perfect!" She said, becoming quieter when John shushed her and Sherlock leaned out of the kitchen.

"What would be?" He asked irately, wiping one of his hands on the dirty lab coat he was wearing over his normal attire. Madeline nodded fervently at John and muffled her delighted squeals with her hands. He took a deep breath before standing and turning to face his former flatmate.

"How do you feel about being the best man at my wedding?" He asked. Madeline absolutely loved the stunned look that spread across the Great Sherlock Holmes' face. For once he looked at a loss for words. He pointed at his chest with the pipette he was holding in his hand in a _you mean me?_ gesture while opening and closing his mouth like a fish. John sighed as his eyes reached for the ceiling.

"Of _course_ you. You're my best mate," The doctor said kindly, "No offense." He added to Madeline.

"None taken," She said compliantly, folding another shirt and watching the two interact out of the corner of her eye. Her alarm went off for her to take her medication so she carefully stepped past Sherlock and into the kitchen. As she passed him, he locked eyes with her and wordlessly asked _is he serious?_ with his facial expression.

"I think he is." Madeline murmured as she brushed by him, trying to hide the smile on her face at how ridiculous the entire situation was becoming. She gingerly took her medicine and returned to her spot on the couch, and by that time Sherlock had come to his senses.

"So what would a best man do?" He said carefully, trying to seem nonchalant about the entire subject. John crossed his arms and thought for a second.

"Organize my stag party with some of my other friends and coworkers, and you have to give a speech at the wedding. That's pretty much it, you're there as my friend to support me and have fun." He said in a matter-of-fact tone. Sherlock tapped his chin with the pipette and wrinkled his nose.

"I have to speak in front of _people_? Ordinary people?" He said finally, John sighed in exasperation and rubbed at his temples.

"Yes, Sherlock. People. Mary and I'd really appreciate it if you'd do it. Would you?" He asked. Sherlock stared blankly at John until Madeline gave him a thumbs up behind the doctor's back.

"Fine." He snapped, breezing back into the kitchen and tinkering with his samples from the crime scene in the tube. Madeline smiled broadly at John and gave him a covert thumbs up accompanied by a smile. A second later Sherlock darted through the flat and raced to his room, shedding his lab coat as he went. In a blur he sprang back into the living room with his scarf and coat in hand and an exuberant grin on his face.

"Come on, John!" He said, shrugging his coat onto his shoulders and tying his scarf around his neck.

"What, why?" John said, taken aback by the detective's sudden change of mood.

"Your stag party, let's go!" Sherlock crowed, John stood from his chair again and shook his head.

"No wait, that takes planning-"He began, but Sherlock had already ducked into the kitchen and reemerged with two milliliter flasks clutched in his hands.

"Of course not, spontaneity is necessary, you won't get it once you're married. Now let's go!" He said excitedly. A mild grin spread itself across John's face as he reached for his coat and Joined Sherlock by the door.

"You'll be alright by yourself?" The doctor asked her. Madeline pinched her fingers together in a "perfect" sign and winked at them.

"Go have fun, but don't come back here hung over and inebriated." She reminded them, but John and Sherlock had already left for wherever they were going. A soft uneasy feeling gnawed at Madeline's stomach, so she locked the door behind them and returned to her seat, feeling the paranoia fade quickly. Sherry startled her by jumping onto the couch and attempting to jump onto the basket of clothes and take a nap, but Madeline caught the cat underneath her front arms and hauled her into her lap.

"Don't even think about it." She reprimanded.

. . .

Madeline had fallen asleep on the couch and Sherry was comfortably nestled in the basket of clothes by the time Sherlock and John got home. They whispered to each other not-so-quietly as they tried to sneak by, but John stumbling over the coffee table and swearing was what woke Madeline up. She bolted upright, eyes wide and searching the dark flat for signs of an intruder. Bright light blinded her and she was startled again by _giggles_. Madeline shielded her eyes with her hand until John stumbled to the wall and turned on the light switch. Sherlock was standing above Madeline with a ruddy tint to his cheeks. He smiled at her and pocketed the flashlight he'd been shining into her face before flopping into his chair with a heavy sigh. John followed suit and collapsed into his armchair. Madeline rubbed at her eyes and glanced at the clock.

"Guys, it's two in the morning, where _have_ you been?" She demanded. Sherlock shrugged at her and gave her a wry smile, and John snickered beside him.

"We had a bachelor party allllll on our own." The doctor drawled, belching a little. Madeline wrinkled her nose and angled her head away from him.

"Yeah I can tell," She said, "And you went drinking, too." Sherlock smirked blatantly at her and laced his hands together professionally.

"Of course, that's what they do on the telly." He said smartly, Madeline quirked an eyebrow at him and frowned.

"Those dating shows don't count, Sherlock. How do you even- oh you guys are going to be _so_ hung over in a few hours." She scolded. Sherlock mocked her by opening and closing his hand in time with her words, and Madeline frowned.

"It was marvelous, though." Sherlock said, still grinning obscenely. "It makes me wish you'd come along, maybe you'd enjoy drinking." Madeline folded her arms and did her best to scowl, but the puppy-eyed look on Sherlock's face made her grin and wish she had a camera present.

"You're a lot nicer when you're drunk." She observed, Sherlock grunted to show he had heard her and went back to lovingly stroking the strings of his bow. He brandished it like a fencing foil in John's direction, and the doctor laughed,

"And John- John's a ridiculous drunk." Madeline continued.

"An agreeable consensus." Sherlock concurred. John scowled at him the best he could in his inebriated state and tried to keep a straight face.

"Coming from the man who charted our alcoholic intake and started a bar fight with a back street wrestler from the east side. Whose side are you on anyway?" He slurred. After a second his angry expression melted into a grin and he and Sherlock broke into gales of laughter together. Madeline shook her head and tried to hide her smile.

"John I'm going to call Mary and see if she can come get you. You shouldn't be going home drunk as you are." She said.

"You can't do that!" Sherlock interjected, Madeline glanced at him curiously.

"Why not? You didn't go to a strip club or anything- did you?" Her voice dipped a little dangerously, but John waved his hands in front of his face.

"No, no, no, no. But the stag party's not over yet! It goes all night!" He chimed, Madeline sighed and rubbed her temples.

"I'd prefer it didn't." She said, "I was sleeping, you guys." Sherlock dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"Well you're not now, so why not be quiet and join or look on pitifully?" He said obnoxiously.

"I'm going to bed." Madeline said firmly, "Don't knock anything over and don't be loud, alright?" Sherlock ignored her and turned back to John, who was animatedly talking to the skull on the mantelpiece about politics. Madeline shook her head before gathering Sherry into her arms and going back to bed.

. . .

"Oh my head. It feels like someone split it open with an axe." John groaned.

"That's what you get," Madeline called from the kitchen, looking through the food she'd stocked the cupboards with around the experiments Sherlock had stowed there first. The detective groaned and rolled over in his armchair and pulled his coat collar up around his face. Apparently he'd slept with his coat and scarf still on.

"How's your head, Sherlock?" Madeline asked him, earning her a glare in response and a muffled grunt.

"I'm fine, just tired." He complained. "Unlike John I can tolerate fermented drinks." Madeline turned back around quickly before he could see the smirk on her face.

"John I'll move my stuff out of your old room so you can sleep it off for a little bit." She said, "Sherlock you should probably sleep, too."

"No you're fine, Madeline. I can make it home and sleep it off there." John protested, but Madeline was already carrying her basket of semi-folded laundry down the stairs back to her flat. John scrambled after her and Sherlock rolled off of his chair and did his best to make his way down the stairs without yawning.

"Seriously, Madeline I can just take a cab home." John called after her.

"No way, John." Madeline said jovially, unlocking her door and nudging it open with her foot. Sherlock scowled behind them. "I don't know how Mary would react to that. She knows you're here, but I didn't tell her Sherlock got you stone cold drunk." She continued before turning to the interior of her flat and stopping short. She could feel her eyes widen and her heart rate began to accelerate. A body was hanging from her ceiling fan, rotating slowly and dripping blood onto the couch and carpet beneath it. The body slowly revolved around, and Madeline had just caught sight of loose skin hanging like limp meat before something dark roughly covered her eyes and jerked her back.

"What are you doing, don't stare at it!" Sherlock growled, spinning her around and tearing his scarf away from her eyes. "Go upstairs and pet your cat, and for God's sake don't touch anything sharp." He demanded, shoving Madeline away from her flat and pointing her in the direction of the stairs. "John, call Lestrade and tell him we found the other twin," She heard Sherlock tell John grimly. His voice was all business, no doubt he was fully awake and clear of the alcohol now. Madeline nearly choked on the rising bile in her throat and all but sprinted up the stairs into 221 B. Sherry was sleeping on the couch nonchalantly when her owner came in, but she woke up and stretched lazily before hopping down to stalk across the carpet. Madeline ignored her and paced viciously on the floor just like Sherlock did when he was thinking, but there were too many blurs flying through her mind for her to actually think clearly. She spun around in tight circles, weaving her hands through her hair and trying to take deep breaths. She could feel the cold panic seeping through her skin like she was wearing wet clothes.

Madeline's erratic efforts to calm herself down stopped when she saw Sherlock's beakers spread out onto the kitchen table. Some of them were empty, and some were filled with strange murky liquids while others served as deposits for random pencils and pens.

She reached for the nearest beaker and turned it over in her hands gingerly, watching the light glint off of the glass slowly. Madeline gingerly tapped the mouth of the beaker on the edge of the counter, reveling slightly in the ringing noise the glass solicited. She tapped the container again on the glass and winced when a crack sprinted up the side of the beaker. She stared blindly at the crack and tapped the glass again on the counter, but harder. Madeline looked at the cracks splaying across the face of the glass and frowned, feeling her lungs slowly fill with icy water.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock reprimanded, standing in the entrance to his kitchen furiously. Madeline jerked back and glanced up at the detective with a startled expression, only acutely aware of the sliver of glass she loosely held in her hand and the broken shards of the beaker glittering on the counter beside her. Sherlock growled angrily and stormed forward, snatching the glass from her hand and throwing it into the sink with a clatter. Madeline's mind quickly floated back to her body with a jolt, and she stepped back a little bit.

"I wasn't going to do it." She said defensively. Sherlock fixed her with a patronizing glance.

"Of course not," He said sarcastically, "You were just entertaining the notion."

"I was!"

"What's going on?" John asked, wobbling into the room and fully awake, just not in complete control of his movements and fighting through a splitting headache. The doctor took one look at the shards of glass in the sink and at Madeline and Sherlock facing each other confrontationally and realized what was happening.

"Oh Madeline." He breathed, "Don't do this." Madeline avoided looking at him, angrier at herself than Sherlock for once.

"She's not," Sherlock interjected angrily, "It's been resolved." He reached past Madeline into the cabinet behind her and waved her prescription bottle in front of her nose.

"Take these." He demanded.

"I'm already on my dose." Madeline argued.

"You forget I can tell when you're lying. John, go write her a stronger prescription." Sherlock called over his shoulder, still glaring at his neighbor. "Apparently she's not as well off as we'd like to have thought." Madeline opened her mouth indignantly and clenched her fists but had nothing scalding to say to the detective.

"Was that her?" She finally asked, ashamed and irritated that her voice was coming out in a squeak. "Was that the other twin?" Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation and exhaled slowly.

"Yes, that was her. She'd been hanging up there for only about an hour." He admitted finally.

"_Only_ an hour?" Madeline whispered.

"Yes an hour," Sherlock said, reigning in his irritation at repeating himself when he caught the sick look on Madeline's face. "She had her face cut up badly." He added, and left it at that. Madeline glanced at the shards laying in the sink and frowned at her hands.

"I saw her face, it wasn't just cut up… it was worse." She murmured, bringing her eyes up to level on Sherlock. "What was on her face?" She demanded. Sherlock shifted almost uncomfortably while Madeline wrung her hands in front of him. "What. Was. On. Her. Face." Madeline repeated forcefully.

"You really don't want to know." John cautioned her. Madeline squared her shoulders and glared at him.

"I do. She was hanging in my flat. You need to tell me." She demanded. John shook his head slightly when he looked at Sherlock, but the detective ignored him.

"Her right cheek had an 'I' carved onto it, and her left cheek had a 'U' cut into it." He said slowly, tracing the letters across his cheek as an example. Madeline's eyes widened and her pulse sped up again as she circled her finger around her mouth.

"And that-"

"Was an 'O'. Yes." He clarified. "Her face read 'I O U'."

"It's him!" Madeline exploded angrily, "He did it!"

"I know," Sherlock said, "Scotland Yard is doing its best at the moment while I'm working on it on my own." John raised his hand and tried to blink away the last of his hangover.

"Who did it, Sherlock? Why did she die?" Madeline gave Sherlock a furious glance and crossed her arms.

"Go on and tell him, I'm surprised you haven't yet." She said icily, Sherlock glared at her before turning and briefly explaining that Moriarty was- in fact- not dead. John's mouth fell open in surprise, then his face contorted in disgust.

"Then why haven't we seen him yet? He's playing under the table but why not out and in the open like he's done before?" The doctor asked. Sherlock shrugged and opened Madeline's medicine bottle. He poured four of the sky blue pills into his hand and added two of the black ones into the mix as well. Madeline glanced uncomfortably at the assembly of pills he shoved at her face.

"I calculated the dosage, it's fine." He said gruffly, like that would dissuade her. Madeline gingerly swept the pills into her hand, being careful not to make contact with Sherlock's skin. After she'd swallowed them and opened her mouth to show that the pills were gone Sherlock shrugged his shoulder satisfactorily and turned to face John again.

"My thoughts are that he's teasing me. Dangling murders right in front of my nose and never leaving any true leads behind. Honestly I'm surprised he hasn't framed someone else for them yet." He said.

"But remember you can't just chalk up any unsolved murder to Moriarty." Madeline reminded him solemnly, rubbing at her wrists blatantly and not caring about the pointed look Sherlock directed at her hands. Lestrade made his way to the door and coughed slightly. Sherlock spun around quickly and fixed him with a heated glare.

"What did you find, Gordon?" The detective inspector closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

"I'm not even going to correct you anymore." He said. "We don't have any prints, Holmes and the case is cold. I need you to take a crack at this." Sherlock squared his shoulders and walked past Lestrade back to Madeline's flat. As soon as he'd passed the threshold of 221 B and started down the stairs Madeline stepped forward and reached for Lestrade.

"I want to help. Just tell me what I can do." She said. Lestrade looked between her and John and shrugged.

"I dunno. You'll have to ask Sherlock what he needs you to do; I'm out of my league again here. Literally just along for the ride." He said dejectedly, sighing and rubbing at his forehead. Madeline sighed too and wrung her hands, resigning herself to John's muddled doctoring as he instructed her not to leave the flat while he observed the crime scene with Lestrade and Sherlock. Madeline huffed and paced around 221 B for a little bit before resigning herself to sitting in Sherlock's chair with Sherry gathered into her lap and letting her medicine quell the agitated feelings surging through her mind and stomach into a calm sea. Loud steps on the stairway startled Madeline when Sherlock burst into the flat and made a beeline for the kitchen. With a chorus of clinks he swept the broken shards of glass out of the sink and into the rubbish bin under the sink. He stopped short and it seemed like he was debating disposing of them further, but instead deigned it enough and turned to Madeline.

"Don't touch those." He said, pointing his finger at her strictly. She didn't look up at him and shrugged her shoulders while she kept petting Sherry.

"Don't want to right now." She said distractedly, feeling her medicine ask her to curl up into a ball under sheets and sleep. Sherlock shifted his weight and huffed angrily at the ceiling, and Madeline was briefly reminded of a horse snorting and stamping its feet.

"Never again would be a better answer." He said shortly. "And under any other circumstance you'd owe me a new beaker." The detective narrowed his eyes at Madeline's lack of response and tried again. "But you don't have to. Just feel better and don't go downstairs." Sherlock said, hearing his voice harden into a brittle tone and not really trying to change it.

"Okay," Madeline said softly, pulling Sherry closer to her chest and stroking the cat constantly. Sherlock turned to stamp his way back down the stairs to the crime scene but Madeline's soft whisper stopped him.

"It's stuck in my head." She murmured quietly, "I didn't see all of it, but the half I did see is stuck in my head."

"That's why I told you not to press about the matter." Sherlock snapped, "I was suggesting what would be in your best interests." Madeline acknowledged him with a nod of her head and kept petting Sherry at an almost harried pace. Sherlock tossed a glance behind him into the stairway to make sure Lestrade and his agents were nowhere within earshot before he sighed.

"Try not to dwell on it, then. Your medicine should help." He said, "And if that fails try to put together a best man's speech for me; apparently I have to speak in front of a multitude of people soon." He added awkwardly. Madeline didn't verbally respond to him, but the detective saw the small smile that curled the edge of her lips between the gaps her hair made around her face. He cleared his throat and stomped back to the crime scene in a businesslike manner, and it would have been a lie if he'd said he wasn't pleased with himself.

**A.N.- guess who's gettin' hitched next chapter? MYCROFT. *kidding, Jesus I was only kidding, quit throwing up he's a great character***

**Yes, okay so I lied. Sorry! I'm not going to make appearance chapter promises anymore because I **_**suck**_** at keeping them. I am so SO sorry, but Jim will be coming back! (I just can't promise when.) I'm desperate to get these fillers over and done with, but too much drama side by side doesn't work well, but then again too much fluff/ filler makes it "dull". (In the ever wise words of Sherlock.)**

**Jim is just setting the stage for his reentry into the game. He's playing with everyone and warming them up for the next round. (ehehe, I'm wrong.)**


	28. Chapter 28

**A.N.- This chapter will have to last you guys through exam week (this week) cause I'll be super busy. *And my birthday is Monday so even though I don't have a test then Imma be out at the barn being 15***

**Guest- That is so flattering, thank you very much!**

**Grace- Thanks! I'm trying to make the fillers still interesting, y'know? Glad you still like it!**

**Feorildia- Yes, a lot of the OC's in the Sherlock fandom are a little too Mary-Sue. They're either immensely skilled in self defense and have an army/ military background of some sort or they've got a seriously demented past that (again) is very Mary-Sue. I wanted to bring an ordinary person into Sherlock's world. Not someone who is capable of defense against assassins or KGB agents (as most normal people are NOT), but someone who has the problems that some humans do have and who feels a little daunted by Sherlock's entire being/ world. Meh. Thank you for your support!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 28

Madeline was discouraged. She tried to avoid confrontations with people on the street or at work, and became paranoid about any case Sherlock took on. She refused to become involved in the cases, even when he politely asked or demanded she help. The only thing that truly seemed to cheer her up was the upcoming event of John and Mary's wedding.

Madeline enjoyed planning out flower arrangements with Mary or writing and sending out the invitations with John. Mary stuck to planning the wedding with her bridesmaids and John did his best to pull the wedding together on his end, although Sherlock wasn't much of a help. Madeline had worked on trying to teach Sherlock to dance, as he was expected to with Mary's maid of honor. He'd wrinkled his nose at the proposition and sullenly accepted Madeline's offer to teach him, but the pseudo-lesson ended up with him stepping on her feet and almost dropping her over the coffee table. Madeline had squeaked like a mouse being stepped on and then quickly but politely ended the session.

The time between the proposal and the wedding was shorter than most, Mary wanted to have the wedding in the spring when everything was in bloom. "Excellent, running noses and puffy eyes in the wedding photographs." Sherlock had remarked snidely. Soon early March melted into mid-April, and Moriarty still hadn't chosen to reveal himself yet. Sherlock grew increasingly more irritable than usual and spent less time eating and sleeping, despite Mrs. Hudson and Madeline nagging him to do so. Madeline had decided not to move back to her flat in the event that Jim decided to pay her another detrimental visit, and Sherlock seconded her opinion by taping obnoxious yellow police tape over her door passive aggressively.

About a week before the wedding Sherlock began to play his violin differently. His normal fast music that matched pace with his thoughts slowed into a lilting and calm melody that drifted through the walls of 221 B easily. Madeline would lay awake in bed at night and listen to the music float through the flat like puffs of warm air. It was an odd change, but he played the same melody every night with only a few minor changes to the notes every now and then so she grew accustomed to it. The night before the wedding Sherlock's playing became erratic, he'd be in the middle of a high note and then skew his bow across the violin angrily and then meld the soft song into a lively, quick jig and then attempt to play it again. Madeline couldn't sleep with the errant shrieks of the violin travelling through the walls, so she roused herself and shuffled out into the living room, surprised to see Sherlock standing in front of the fireplace and playing his instrument for the skull and various trinkets scattered on the mantle piece while in his blue robe. He'd start off with the same melody and halfway through he'd draw his bow angrily across the strings and stop short, then try to start again.

"Hey, Sherlock? You okay?" Madeline asked him carefully. She couldn't see his face in the reflection of the mirror above the fireplace, he was just outside of the mirror's view.

"Fine." He said gruffly. "Go to bed or you'll be miserable tomorrow. I don't want to deal with a teary mess for the next twenty-four hours." Madeline folded her arms crossly.

"I think you're going to be the teary one." She observed. Sherlock growled and kept his back to her. Madeline shrugged, trudged back to John's old room, and went back to bed, desperately trying to ignore the chagrined violin music Sherlock continued to pour into existence. She ended up sleeping with the pillow folded around her ears and the covers bunched over her head.

The next morning Madeline bounced out of bed, more lively than she'd been in the last few weeks. She swept out of bed and darted into the bathroom. She quickly showered and brushed out her hair, then threw on a pair of jeans and headed into the living room. Sherlock was slumped over in his chair, asleep with an angry scowl on his face and his violin clutched in his hand. Madeline frowned at the detective and rooted through the cupboards for materials to make breakfast with. She was halfway done with buttering her toast when Sherlock jolted awake and staggered into the kitchen with a scowl.

"You don't look like you slept well." Madeline observed. Sherlock growled at her and marched into his room, slamming the door behind him. A short while later Mrs. Hudson rapped on the door and came into the flat.

"Are you excited dear? Today's the day!" She crooned, showing Madeline the outfit she had picked out for the wedding. "What about you, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called deeper into the flat, Sherlock complained something in response and the old woman chuckled. Madeline let her keep talking in the background as she tidied up the kitchen and headed to John's room to ready herself. Mrs. Hudson smiled and left with a small wave of her hand before returning to her own flat to prepare. It didn't take Madeline long, she only had a simple dress, and her hair wasn't too big of a priority, either. The one thing Madeline had made specific when she was looking for a dress was that there were sleeves long enough to cover her arms. She stepped up to Sherlock's door and knocked on it with her knuckles.

"Sherlock, are you ready yet? We've got to get going." She called.

"The wedding starts at one." Sherlock retorted through the door. "There's no reason to leave so early."

"No, John wanted us there early." Madeline reminded him, "We need to go ahead and leave. Sherlock, let's go." She rapped on his door repeatedly until he jerked it open and glared at her. The first thing that caught Madeline's eye was the untied bow tie hanging around Sherlock's neck loosely.

"Your bowtie isn't done." She said.

"Brilliant observation." The detective countered, rolling his eyes. His fingers pinched around one end of the bow tie disdainfully. "Do you think you could fasten this? It's an insufficient waste of time for me to tie it." He said. Madeline shrugged at him and hid her hands behind her back.

"Don't look at me, I don't know how to tie that. I'd just ruin it." She said, Sherlock looked a little surprised for a second before his face settled back into its normal apathetic expression.

"I thought all women could tie bowties." He said innocuously. Madeline laughed and pushed him backwards with her palm.

"Yeah right. Go ask Mrs. Hudson, she should be able to do it." She smirked, bouncing a little on the balls of her heels and grabbing her purse. She made sure to slip her medicine into the bag before she and Sherlock continued down the stairs and deterred to Mrs. Hudson's flat for a brief lesson in bowtie-tying and then hailed a cab to the gardens where John and Mary were hosting the wedding.

. . .

Not many people had arrived when Sherlock and Madeline made it to the gardens, but John, Mary, and the maid of honor and a few assorted others were already there. Mary introduced Madeline and Sherlock to her bridesmaids and the maid of honor, as well as her father and sister. John introduced his cousin, Audrey and his aunt who apparently lived in France. Madeline had shaken all of their hands and giggled with them courteously, but the social interactions made her quite uncomfortable. That and the fact that Mary's maid of honor automatically attached herself to Sherlock's arm irritated her more than she was willing to admit. Soon the guests arrived and took their seats, and everyone filed into a reserved section of the garden and waited until a soft piano melody played over the set up loudspeakers. Everyone turned to the back rows of the audience to see Mary slowly walk down the aisle and into John's waiting arms. The priest stood between them and softly murmured the marriage vows to the two of them then had them repeat them in louder voices. Finally, he exchanged their rings and pronounced John and Mary as a newlywed couple and the entire congregation applauded. Madeline stood and wiped the tears from her face before standing and clapping for them. Sherlock looked increasingly uncomfortable beside John at the head of the congregation, and as Mary and John linked arms and walked back up the aisle the maid of honor looped her arm through Sherlock's and pulled him with her up the aisle as well. The detective wore a sudden look of panic before his face dropped into a closed off stare and he accompanied her in John and Mary's footsteps.

"Oh, they're just adorable!" Mrs. Hudson cooed from beside Madeline, and she could only hope the landlady was talking about John and Mary.

The banquet afterwards was still hosted in the gardens, but it was in one of the lovely rental buildings built on the premises. Mary and John sat between Sherlock and the maid of honor, and everyone went around giving their speeches until it was Sherlock's turn. He stood up slowly from the table and dug in his pockets for a second, wincing when multitudes of notecards spilled all over the tabletop in front of him.

"So- John. Good old John. Marvelous John. It seems… it seems he's gone and gotten himself uh- married." The detective started, stumbling over his words and clutching the cards in his hands into small bunches. Madeline covered her mouth with her fingers and closed her eyes crossing the fingers of her other hand under the table discreetly. Mrs. Hudson murmured prayers into her palm exasperatedly while Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock looked around at the other tables set in front of the bride and groom's table and swallowed visibly. Madeline felt her face heat up when he sought her out and gave her a slightly panicked expression. She raised her eyebrows in a _go on_ motion, and after a second Sherlock collected his thoughts and continued.

"John and I have had many adventures together. We've solved many crimes and over the last few years…" Madeline found herself zoning out of Sherlock's monologue, and when she jerked herself back to reality and looked around she could see some of the other wedding guests had no idea what the detective was rambling about. Even John looked a little confused and Mary sat pleasantly whilst her maid of honor texted on her phone under the table. When Madeline felt Sherlock's eyes on her again she put her hand near her face and twirled her hand in a motion to speed up the speech. Sherlock blinked and completely discarded the note cards in his hands.

"And there was one case that was a serial number of poisonings. There were so many possible ways to kill the victims, but it was John who figured it out- even if by accident. And by accident I mean him attempting to smoke a pack of cigarettes of mine that had been laced with trace amounts of zyklon B and others with nitroglycerin." He declared, stepping around the table to pace anxiously between the guests. Madeline saw how his fingers tapped against his palms almost nervously before he shoved them into his pockets and casually strolled between the guest tables.

"There are many ways to poison a person, actually but it can also depend on how intimate of terms one may be with the person. For example, Detective Inspector Lestrade enjoys his coffee black in the mornings which would make it easy for me to slip a tablespoon of belladonna into his morning mug. The color would blend easily and the poison would quickly enter his bloodstream. Quite a simple intoxication, actually." Sherlock said, "But very lethal."

"Oh sweet Jesus." Mrs. Hudson murmured, while Lestrade looked at Sherlock with a horrified glance. Madeline winced and cupped her hands around her nose and mouth, she rubbed at her face agitatedly and wished that Sherlock's best man's speech would end soon. Sherlock's footsteps echoed solitarily on the tile in the silence that the wedding guests were afraid to fill.

"And take for example Miss Carver," The detective said, nearing Madeline's table as he paced. She could feel herself tense up as Sherlock's footsteps came to a halt near her chair. "All I would have to do is slip a new medicine into her prescription bottle or raise the prescription and she would easily be dead within an hour." Madeline felt cold strike at her bones as the memory of her half-effort overdose and the little white box sprang into her mind. Underneath the bad memory she also felt shock that Sherlock was broadcasting the fact that she took medication to the entire wedding congregation, and she was sure her betrayal showed on her face. The reminder of her medicine almost made Madeline want to reach into her purse for her medicine, but that would only affirm the congregation's suspicions-planted by Sherlock- and she could feel their eyes on her.

"If you could stop now, that'd be good." Madeline whispered under her breath, but she knew Sherlock heard her because he quickly shut his mouth and took precise strides back to the bride and groom's table. He cleared his throat and began speaking again.

"So- of course I am… indebted to John. He's been an ever constant presence in my life for the last four years, and I have no qualms in saying that I wouldn't be here if not for him- mostly because it's his wedding and I wouldn't be here if he _wasn't_ getting married…" He said. Madeline coughed pointedly and Sherlock's words sped up.

"So John, here's to you. To you and your happy ending." Sherlock reached uncertainly for the delicate champagne glass in front of him and raised it between his fingers. It wobbled a little bit in his hand but the detective's face was stoic. Some of the wedding guests "awwed" and the entire congregation raised its glasses in a toast to Sherlock's speech. Mary and John stood too, and Sherlock looked taken aback.

"I think it came out wrong." He muttered, "My calculations were erroneous." John took a step forward and wrapped his arms around his old flatmate.

"No, you did it fine." The doctor choked out, Mary clasped her hands together and beamed at them and Madeline smiled at them. Mrs. Hudson dug out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose delicately.

"Alright," John said, "Back to the wedding." He rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his tuxedo and coughed once before clapping Sherlock on the back and sitting back down. There was a brief ripple of applause through the wedding guests' tables, then the polite dinner chat resumed. Madeline caught Sherlock's eye from his uncomfortable seat at the head of the room and gave him a small smile and a nod. He returned the gesture and went back to roving his eyes over the wedding guests and reading them to amuse himself. Madeline did her best to partake in the lively conversations between Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly Hooper but discreetly took her medicine when no one was looking.

. . .

The wedding reception was marvelous. John's cousin Audrey had slid over to Madeline as soon as the music had started, prattling about introducing her to some of John's friends from medical school. Madeline had dug her heels in at first, then allowed herself to be towed through the masses of dancing guests and shoved into someone's arms. A song with half-lively tempo started to broadcast itself through the loudspeakers, and John's classmate began to twirl her around.

"You should know I can't dance." Madeline said, "At least not to fast songs." She immediately bit her lip, hoping her dance partner hadn't taken her words as an invitation to slow dance.

"It's alright," He answered her charmingly, "I know how to. I'm Alex, by the way." Madeline nodded her head and reintroduced herself under her breath. Alex laughed and swung her around on the dance floor, and Madeline did her best to keep from falling over. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Hudson dancing with another elderly gentleman and Lestrade awkwardly offering his hand to Molly Hooper.

Madeline could also see John and Mary swaying together in a world of their own in the center of the dance floor; but she couldn't see Sherlock. She resigned herself to the thought that he was outside sulking and avoiding human interaction, but her thoughts were disproved when she saw Mary's maid of honor dancing with the detective in one corner of the floor. Sherlock had a petulant scowl on his face that entailed how little he cared for the post-ceremony festivities, and it showed in his lack of effort to dance. Madeline lost sight of him when Alex spun her around and extended his arm with her still clinging to his hand for dear life.

After the dance ended Madeline thanked him graciously and made her way to John and Mary to give her wedding present to them. They thanked her and Madeline gave them her congratulations in return before going to take a seat by a slightly inebriated Audrey.

"He's one hell of a dancer, isn't he?" She hiccupped, Madeline wrinkled her nose and readjusted the sleeves on her dress.

"He's interesting, yeah." She admitted, hoping John's cousin wouldn't throw her at another stranger. Audrey grinned and reclined in the chair. A new song started up over the speakers, and it was strangely familiar. Madeline recognized it as the melody Sherlock had been practicing in his flat every night. She stood from her chair and saw the detective standing on the stage that had been erected by the DJ's table. He was playing his violin in front of a microphone awkwardly with his eyes closed.

"Will the bride and groom come forward for their first waltz," The DJ announced in a low voice. Sherlock ignored him and kept playing into the microphone, furrowing his brows slightly when the technology produced a ringing sound when he bumped it on accident. John and Mary slowly walked into the center of the dance floor, and the wedding guests quickly cleared a space for them. Mary gingerly placed her hand on John's shoulder and he gave her a nervous smile before placing his hand on her waist. They slowly began to sway back and forth until John boldly turned in a circle and took Mary with him. She tossed her head back and laughed while Sherlock calmly kept playing his violin. Madeline couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as John and Mary waltzed around the floor like they were on air. Sherlock swayed a little bit in time to his music but continued to play. Madeline swung her hand slightly in time with the music, she felt like she knew it so well she could play it herself. A sudden round of applause pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see John dipping Mary by her waist and kissing her full on the mouth. Audrey whooped and toasted the newlyweds with her glass as Sherlock drew his song to an abrupt end on a sweet high note and quickly tucked his violin under his arm professionally before leaving the stage without a word. Madeline lost sight of his curly hair above the crowd of wedding guests that swarmed back onto the dance floor. She craned her neck to try and find him again as another slow song pushed itself into the spaces between the guests' bodies at a faster tempo than Sherlock's waltz, but still slow enough to fit the soft beat pattern. Madeline could see Alex across the floor moving towards her, most likely for another dance. Audrey nudged her shoulder roughly and grinned.

"Have at, go dance with him." She jibed. Madeline closed her eyes softly and groaned.

"Ugh, please God no. I can't handle him again." She muttered. Alex had almost reached them and was already extending his arm when Sherlock slid in front of him smoothly.

"Would you care to dance?" He said lowly, grabbing Madeline's wrist and jerking her out of her seat before Alex could reach her and before she could even answer. Audrey hiccupped a protest as Sherlock pulled Madeline away from the chairs and into the dance floor.

"Why are you doing this?" Madeline whispered, "I can't dance, and you can't either." Sherlock inclined his head slightly and gingerly placed his hand on her waist. Madeline bit her lip and automatically placed her hand on Sherlock's shoulder to steady herself.

"That was by far the most strenuous thing I have ever done." Sherlock said lowly to her. Madeline blinked.

"What? Your best man's speech or pulling me onto a dance floor like a cliché knight in shining armor?" She whispered back. The corner of Sherlock's mouth bent in a wry smile.

"Both. That and having to play my music in front of everyone just so John and Mary could receive my wedding gift." He said dryly. Madeline huffed a little laugh and resisted the uncanny urge to lean her forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. It was odd how willingly he was touching her, and her skin sparked and burned when he shifted his hand on her waist slightly.

"You looked uncomfortable in that situation so I stepped in to intervene." Sherlock elaborated needlessly. Madeline just nodded and tried to keep swaying in time to the music, something that Sherlock wasn't good at. She winced a little and hissed through her teeth when he stepped onto her foot while trying to turn them around. Sherlock frowned and tried to step away from her, but ended up bringing Madeline with him.

"Yeah, can't dance." She murmured. Sherlock glared at her.

"I could have left you to dance with that other man." He snapped, "Who by the way would have stepped on your feet much more frequently."

"He didn't actually, he just swung me around like a rag doll." Madeline corrected the detective. "And I didn't want to dance with him anyway. The first time was only because John's cousin shoved me at him." Sherlock laughed a little bit, shrugging his shoulders in the process. Madeline grinned back at him and lowered her gaze to her feet.

"Don't do that. You're more prone to trip." Sherlock nagged her, so instead she focused her gaze on the flower tucked into his lapel.

"You're wearing pearls," Sherlock observed, nodding his head at Madeline's neck. If her hands had been free her fingers would have jumped to her suprasternal notch where the string of pearls came to rest.

"Yeah, Mrs. Hudson loaned them-"

"Of course, it's obvious. She's the only person who wears body spray with pearls, which eats away at the necklace corrosively." Sherlock said with his eyes fixated somewhere above Madeline's head. The song came to an end, fading into oblivion until a new, faster melody took its place. Sherlock didn't stop dancing with her, he didn't even speed up the pace of their movements in the slightest. Madeline's eyes were darting around the dance floor restlessly, and Sherlock squeezed the hand she had interlaced with his slightly.

"When you're distracted it becomes harder for me to focus. Quit mucking about." He snapped. Madeline reined herself in and focused her eyes on the flower in Sherlock's lapel again.

"So how has it been with Mary's maid of honor?" She asked him quietly. Sherlock's expression dipped into a scowl.

"Irritating to say the least. She was keen to dance, and although she dances better than you her narcissism is belligerent." He said meanly. Madeline pursed her lips at him and frowned.

"You looked fine with her." She said absently, Sherlock's fingers twitched on her waist and his scowl deepened. The livelier song ended and a new song began, assaulting everyone's ears with heavy bass and loud music. Sherlock and Madeline grimaced at the noise and pseudo-waltzed to the edge of the dance floor where they broke away from each other and stepped outside of the warm confines of the reception tent.

"I am more than ready to leave and return to Baker Street." Sherlock complained, Madeline tugged at her dress sleeves and smiled.

"You did well today. Your best man's speech was a little muddled, but I'm glad you actually did it." She said, looking at Sherlock's feet rather than his face. "Although I'm not quite sure how you got onto the topics of killing me and poisoning Lestrade's coffee." She added. Sherlock's feet shifted as he shifted his weight, and Madeline brought her eyes up to Sherlock's shoulder.

"I was rambling and trying to tie the poisoning back to my original topic to conclude my point." Sherlock said roughly. Madeline rolled her eyes and rubbed her arms. The air was still chilly late at night, even though the afternoons were warm and balmy.

"Yes I get that but you kind of broadcasted that I need my medication; and why would you even use me for that? The thought that you've considered poisoning me is a little… off-putting." Madeline said, hesitating to find her last word. Sherlock crossed his arms petulantly and cocked his head to the side.

"Of course I wouldn't. I wouldn't dream of it, sometimes I just amuse myself by predicting peoples' weak points." He began.

"So you plot murders in your spare time," Madeline said, shifting her weight to one hip. "It doesn't surprise me." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her briefly and Madeline shrugged her shoulders out of a lack of words. Sherlock sighed and looked out over the gardens, equally bathed in the lights and shadows that are brought on by night. Behind them the loud music continued to erupt from the warmth of the tent.

"I had meant to tell you earlier on the dance floor: we've already clarified that I am not your 'knight in shining armor'." The detective pointed out. Madeline opened her mouth but Sherlock cut across her before she could speak.

"Nor am I your knight in 'rusty' armor." He added.

"Okay?" Madeline said uncertainly, "I can still call you whatever I'd like if I have a notion to." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers exasperatedly.

"You are by far the most aggravating person I ever speak to." He said. Madeline spread her hands in front of her sarcastically.

"But you love me," She jibed. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and turned to face her all the way.

"And I'm not sure if that's the best or worst decision I've ever made." He said lowly, taking one step forward and carefully but firmly kissing Madeline on the lips. She widened her eyes in surprise for a second before closing them and wholeheartedly kissing Sherlock back. He timidly placed his hands on either side of Madeline's face with his thumbs slightly brushing the edge of her mouth and his fingers splayed below her jaw delicately. Madeline reached up and tangled her fingers in Sherlock's hair and kissed him back whilst the music and dancing continued on inside mere feet away. They pulled away for a second to breathe, and Sherlock gently touched his forehead to Madeline's.

"There, a legitimate reciprocation of affection where I don't have to chase you down." Sherlock said wryly, Madeline laughed breathlessly.

"I don't think I ever told you that you're absolutely brilliant." She said softly, Sherlock kissed her briefly on the lips and let go of her; Madeline untangled her fingers from his hair with a smile. He smirked at her and took a step back with a smirk.

"But of course, I'm the world's only consulting detective." He pointed out. Madeline smiled at him and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah okay. That was dumb of me to stoke your ego." She said. Sherlock gave her a self-satisfied smirk and she had the feeling he might have kissed her again if John hadn't stepped outside and interrupted them.

"Oh, hey Sherlock. I'm not interrupting something, right?" He said.

"No," Sherlock said, turning to face the doctor. "What is it?" John smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Mary wanted to know if you wrote that piece you played by yourself. It sounded great and she wanted to thank you for it." He said. Sherlock shot a definitive glance at Madeline and wordlessly walked back into the tent with John. Madeline sighed happily and spun in a tight circle before deciding not to go back into the tent where Alex was most likely waiting for another dance. She grinned and walked a little farther into the garden, but not far enough that she couldn't see and hear the festivities. She sat on a little bench and made herself comfortable.

"Oh hey, there you are." Someone said, Madeline snapped her head up and saw a news reporter standing in front of her with a baseball cap on his head and a book bag slung over his shoulder.

"Oh come _on_. Why are you storming John's wedding anyways? It's aggravating enough that you guys are right outside the door every morning." Madeline groaned, the reporter waved his hands in front of his face quickly.

"No, no, no I'm not here to crash the wedding or anything."Madeline cocked an eyebrow at him. "Sorry, no. I just want a statement from you about what kind of terms you're on with Sherlock." He said.

"_Excuse me_?" Madeline said, then she realized what the reporter was asking. "Wait- did you see-"She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder back towards the tent. The reporter shrugged sheepishly and pulled his baseball cap down farther.

"Yeah sorry. That's kind of my job." He said guiltily. Madeline groaned and swung her hand in a _no way_ motion.

"No, I'm not going to give you a statement. You should go ahead and leave." She said icily, standing angrily to go back into the tent to be with Sherlock and John. The reporter jumped to his feet, too and hastily presented his argument.

"No, no please! I'd really like a statement from you. My boss says he'll fire me if I don't get one! Please just one quote, Miss Carver." He pleaded.

"Then you'd better start looking for a new job." Madeline stated, but backtracked when something clicked in her mind. "Wait, how do you know my name?" She asked. The reporter shrugged his shoulders and turned to dig in his bag for a notepad and something to scribble with, pleased that he'd delayed her departure.

"Common knowledge where I work. Everyone knows Madeline Carver's the apple of Sherlock Holmes' eye." He said. Madeline frowned at him when the reporter turned back around with a pen in hand. She reached out one hand and slapped him across the face, knocking his baseball cap to the side and jumping back. The reporter swore and swayed a little bit, rubbing at his cheek furiously.

"That's what I consider impolite." He said, straightening up again. Madeline could feel herself pale when she recognized his face.

"It's about damn time you showed up." She said angrily, trying to hide the fear trying to spread itself evidently across her face. Jim Moriarty shifted his weight nonchalantly and shrugged.

"Calm down, damsel. I was just setting up the playing field. Messing with people's heads and such. You seemed to play my mini-mind-games really well." He said snarkily. Madeline felt her fear and horror become diluted with fury.

"You're such an ass!" She shouted at him without putting much thought into her words, hoped someone would hear her from the tent and investigate. There was no point in running for help. Jim shrugged.

"Yeah, I kind of am; even though you're putting it mildly." He acknowledged cheekily. Madeline took a small step back at the insane grin the criminal had plastered to his face; but his hand shot out and latched onto her wrist. Madeline shrieked and tried to pull away from him but Jim just rolled his eyes and twisted her arm like he had before.

"You're just a little too predictable. And ooh look at you! Wearing a dress with sleeves: my, something terrible must have happened." He jeered, Madeline thrashed about and managed to ram her heel into Jim's kneecap and did her best to put as much force as she could behind it. He grunted in pain and released her arm, and Madeline was able to sprint a couple of steps towards the tent before he caught her again.

"Sherlock!" Madeline shouted, but the music spilling out from the tent was unbearably loud even from where she and Jim were. The criminal reproduced the pen he'd been holding, and Madeline realized that it was actually a syringe. She didn't feel the needle break her skin, but she immediately felt whatever Moriarty had inside of it enter her system. Her eyelids immediately grew heavy and she could feel Jim let go of her.

"Go run to Sherlock." He teased, "I certainly won't try to stop you." Madeline stumbled towards the reception tent, trying to keep herself awake and alert. She'd made it farther than her previous escape attempt when she stumbled over her own feet and fell to the ground.

"Sherlock," She called as loudly as she could, although it was more of a whisper. Jim walked into her swiftly shrinking field of vision and smirked down at her.

"I hope you know he can't hear you." He said cockily. Madeline groaned and did her best to push herself up from the ground, but her arms wouldn't work.

"They'll know." She whispered. Moriarty shrugged with his hands in his jacket pockets.

"They're used to me being spectacular, so I'll go small and make it interesting. Never know." He winked at her and Madeline did her best to kick at him, but her legs weren't working, either. Her sense of gravity must have been impaired too because her body began to feel light and the moon grew larger. It took Madeline a second to realize that Moriarty was carrying her, and she had no will to struggle. She could hear the music from the reception fading into white noise, and then she could hear someone shout "Madeline!" into the night.

But that might have just been her imagination.

**A.N.- THERE. Jim finally brought his un-dead self back from the dead to do his thang. And I finally got the wedding scene in and THEY KISSED. No small forehead kisses or chasing somebody through a building to kiss them back. (That actually sounds creepy.) But eeee it happened!**

**Lemme explain John's cousin Audrey Watson: I love the girl she's named after in real life. I've known her since we were born and unfortunately I haven't seen her in a few years, but we're so close we call each other "Sis". I immediately thought of Audrey when I had to figure out someone's name. (The character has no ties to her personality wise, just by name.) Just so ya know, that character is named after my childhood buddy. ^_^**

**Reviews are welcome you guys!**


	29. Chapter 29

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 29

**A.N.- There is a virtual tour of where Madeline is being held. After it's revealed I encourage you to go look it up, it might help if I don't explain some stuff all the way.**

**theimprobableone- Thank you, are you sure though? There are millions of stories on this site. But thanks!**

**zodiacgurl17- Heehee, I know I'm evil. I just really love me some cliffhangers. **

**RLMW- Couple spelling errors there set off my OCD. Thank you though! I did my best to try and keep with BBC's layout of the characters. **

**Grace- You're back! I have a pseudo twin (not related but we're a day apart and look alike- creepy) named Grace so I am automatically attached to your username. XD Yeah, Jim is kind of a spoilsport… jerk. It'll all get better though! (Not in this chapter…)**

** \- Thank you! That's so sweet of you to say! Yeah, I couldn't keep Jim out of the picture, you've gotta love him! And the great thing is that I'm past BBC's plot so I can do whatever I want! (Within reason.) Mwahahah. **

**Uncontrollable-book-nerd: Here it is! Earlier than promised!**

"Sherlock, calm down." John said cautiously. "You're not being rational."

"To hell with rationality," Sherlock bit out, pacing in his flat furiously. "I should have predicted that he would act at such an event. It was foolish of me to not be on my guard." Mrs. Hudson stumbled into the flat with a tray of cups and biscuits.

"Any leads?" She asked fretfully, John shook his head wordlessly and took the tray from her and placed it on the coffee table. Sherlock whirled around and John jerked the tray off of the table before his ex-flatmate's foot crushed the teacups as he stepped onto the table. Mrs. Hudson wrung her hands and left for her own flat. John slammed the tray onto the kitchen counter and stormed back into the living room and stopped Sherlock as he was spinning around to pace again.

"Okay, look. Stop. We can't just sit here and think about it, we've got to go get her." John said, holding up his hand and stopping the detective's pacing. Sherlock frowned and scowled at him.

"That's suicide. For Miss Carver and for us. Moriarty would be expecting us to come for her. This will take serious deliberation." He snapped, pressing his fingertips together and touching them to his lips in a praying motion. John crossed his arms and shifted his weight angrily.

"I think he'll be expecting you to plan it out." He said seriously. "It'd be better if we just went out to look for her."

"With what leads, John?" Sherlock ranted, "There's nothing to go on. Nothing to give us a foothold or purchase." The detective fisted his hands in his hair and spun in a tight circle.

"Then maybe you could call Mycroft?" John suggested tersely. Sherlock glared at him angrily.

"No, don't call him. I can find Miss Carver without his help." He said.

"Look, you're going to have to swallow your pride." John snapped at him, "Madeline's missing and you can't do this on your own- admit it." Sherlock narrowed his eyes briefly and grabbed his coat from its hook as well as his scarf and left the flat.

"Sherlock, where do you think you're going?" John shouted after him.

"As you oh-so-wisely said, sitting around won't do anything." Sherlock snapped sarcastically, "So start looking." He added, leaving the flat and storming down the sidewalk.

"Mrs. Hudson, stay here and keep an eye out. Maybe Madeline would come back." John called into Mrs. Hudson's flat before leaving 221 Baker Street and heading in the opposite direction that Sherlock had taken.

Sherlock tore down the yellow tape barring the entrance to the renovated carpark that he hadn't seen in two years. It looked untouched since the last time he'd visited it, but the detective stormed inside nonetheless. He picked up a discarded metal pipe and slung it into the depths of the parking deck. It resounded against whatever it hit with a reverberating clang, and Sherlock pulled out his gun and flashlight. He directed the light into the darkness and swept it around in a circle. The light travelled over the cement columns standing everywhere in the car park, and Sherlock immediately noticed the lighter patches in the cement where Moriarty's explosives used to rest. The detective ran his fingers over the patches and felt the texture of the concrete where the explosives had been removed. He swung his flashlight over the interior of the car park farther then took four short steps forward and stopped short.

Sherlock panned his flashlight beam across the floor in front of him and stepped back. A little white teacup lay in the middle of the floor, surrounded by what looked like red splatters of blood. Sherlock stepped between the splotches of red and looked into the teacup, a small hank of brown hair rested peacefully in the bottom of the cup. Sherlock slowly touched one of the red lines with his finger and felt only a cool, smooth substance instead of blood.

"Candle wax." He murmured, standing and stepping backwards until he could see the wax clearly. The teacup was resting in the middle of the "O", while the candle wax had been slung about to roughly spell the word "WRONG". Sherlock growled and scooped up the teacup before storming out of the car park furiously. His phone moaned and he quickly pulled it out.

_**That was risqué. And wrong.**_ It read. Sherlock swallowed his simmering temper and typed a response.

_**You're not making clever moves. –SH**_ He sent the message and waited only six complete seconds before the response.

_**Who, me? I'm playing my game how I'd please. –JM **_Sherlock's phone declared a second message only seconds later.

_**You should be careful, this round is going to be a gauntlet. Don't think about calling big brother, either. –JM**_ Sherlock growled and stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned back to glare at the red candle wax before striding back to Baker Street, sending John a text to meet him there as soon as he could.

. . .

"Ooh Sherlock's missing it!" Jim crowed, Madeline furrowed her eyebrows and tried to open her eyes. When she finally did she found that her limbs were as heavy as lead and she was sluggish. Part of her neck felt cold, and her cheek was pressed against something hard and cold. Madeline slowly brought her hand to her neck and alarmingly felt at the shortened length of her hair on the right side of her neck by the base of her skull. She shivered and rubbed at the spot, then pushed herself up into a sitting position, vaguely aware that her hands were unbound.

"Good thing you finally woke up." Jim said, his voice echoing loudly from the darkness around her. Madeline pushed herself onto her knees and shakily tried to stand, but her knees felt like water and it took a few tries before she could actually stand. A bright light flashed on from above and blinded her for a second, and when Madeline's vision adjusted she saw that she'd been lying on a strictly painted argyle of yellow lines that intersected to make a cautionary space. Jim leaned over a railing on a catwalk above her and grinned.

"Lovely to see you awake and smiling, Miss Carver." He called to her. Madeline staggered and shielded her eyes against the light. Jim smirked and disappeared from the railing before he stepped into the circle of shadows rimming the light shining on Madeline and the diamonds. She took a hasty step back and wobbled as her vision swam and her legs went numb for a second. Jim laughed and flipped a light switch just out of sight of the limited light. More lights flickered on in the dark, chasing away the shadows and shining pale, harsh light on multitudes of pipes and tubes running all over the walls and ceiling. Moriarty spread his hands complacently and pivoted on his heel.

"Great, isn't it? You've lived her for how long- three years? - and you have no idea where you are." He said, Madeline rubbed at her wrists and swiveled her eyes around but jerked them back to Moriarty when he took a step forward.

"Don't come near me," She slurred, still fuzzy from whatever was in her system. Jim laughed and pushed a hand through his hair casually.

"If I wanted to you wouldn't be able to stop me," He teased. Madeline frowned at him and spread her hands by her waist to stabilize her balance. Moriarty stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked one foot out slowly and blew air from his cheeks.

"Phew, you completely missed it. Sherlock was completely in the wrong place! He messed up!" He bent over at the waist and chuckled, and Madeline took a wobbly step back. "Oh you should have seen his face- I had cameras set up at the old car park where you and the good Dr. Watson had joined me a few years ago. Sorry but I had to borrow a piece of your hair to incite him a little more." Jim brushed his finger by his hairline, and Madeline tugged on the shortened tuft of hair nervously, soothed only a little by the fact that Sherlock was looking for her.

"Although," Moriarty said, stepping forward a little more. "He messed up, and the way this game works is like this: if Sherly messes up- you will have to pay for it. He'll know, don't worry." He added when he saw Madeline's face blanch. "You won't go through anything for nothing. He'll know." Moriarty lunged forward and caught Madeline by her upper arm. Her brain processed the event and sent out a reaction only after she'd felt his hand close around her arm. She pulled backwards suddenly, but Moriarty jerked her arm forward and backward, jostling her head on her neck and making her knees buckle. Jim dragged her to one of the walls with considerable strength and flipped a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. He looped the chain around a pipe with a diameter of about four inches resting at shoulder level and slapped the cuff around one of Madeline's wrists, then snapped the other one shut around the other wrist.

She squirmed and tried to pull away from the pipe, but even when she shifted her arms she couldn't take more than a half step forward. She jerked her hands away from the pipe as hard as she could and winced at the numbness that reverberated through her hands when the cuffs jerked against the soft spots on the sides of her wrists. Jim watched her with raised eyebrows and laughed.

"And yet you still have no idea where we are. Little damsel you've gotten yourself handcuffed to the heating pipes of Parliament's basement." He said, spreading his arms jovially and spinning around to indicate the lattices of pipes weaving around them. Madeline felt her eyes widen and air return to her lungs.

"Help! Someone, help!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, wincing at the loud reverberations echoing off of the brick walls and the pipes. Jim laughed at the ceiling, adding his own echo to the fading reverberations of Madeline's screams and producing a cell phone from his pocket.

"It'd record better if you'd scream louder. Excellent effort, though even though nobody can hear. I have friends in the building staff who've posted signs to deter visitors and other maintenance staff. They've got everything handled, nobody's going to be disturbing us until Sherlock gets here." He snickered, the glee raising his voice a few octaves. "But the best part about this game is that there are no clues for Sherlock to follow, this one I'm going to make him work for. And like I said before- when he messes up, you get the fallout." Madeline pressed herself up against the pipes to get as far away from Jim's Cheshire grin as possible. She raised herself up a little bit on her tiptoes to relieve the numbness seeping into her hands but started when she felt the pipes begin to warm behind her. She squirmed and tried to step away from the pipes, even if it meant going towards Moriarty, but the handcuffs stopped her and only let her hold herself an inch from the steadily heating pipes while balancing on her toes. If she tried to stand on the flat of her feet the pipes would scald her skin like she'd touched a hot skillet. She hissed at the pain while Jim raised his eyebrows at her predicament and smiled.

"This'll be good for Sherlock's mistake today. Don't worry, those pipes run for fifteen minutes twice daily. They'll shut off soon." He said, watching Madeline twist away from the heating pipes and try to keep her skin away from the hot metal. Jim smiled at her and laced his fingers together.

"Don't worry, damsel." He said softly, "Sherlock will get here soon enough."

. . .

"John, he left me this." Sherlock growled, shaking the bag of hair in the doctor's face before tossing it to rest inside the white teacup. He splayed himself across the couch lengthwise while John rubbed at his eyes tiredly and snatched the bag into his hands.

"He yanked a shank of hair from Miss Carver's skull and planted it to let me know I was on the wrong lead." Sherlock mused. John held the bag up to his face and scrutinized it closely.

"These weren't yanked, Sherlock." He said, "There's no hair bulb or follicle. These were cut." Sherlock swung his legs around and pushed himself up from the couch. He grabbed the sample bag from John and used forceps to pull a couple of the hairs out and put them under his microscope.

"They were cut," He murmured, "On the opposite end of the dermic layer of the hairs. And look at this…" He pulled a couple of the hairs together and held them over an open flame, the hairs curled inwards towards Sherlock's fingers in an attempt to shy away from the fire and sizzled with a faint green flare amid a yellow flame. Sherlock shook the fire out and held the hairs close to his face.

"Dirt, so somewhere filthy. Maybe a shipyard?" He muttered before turning his attention to the cup

"White porcelain. John, have you seen this kind of cup before?" Sherlock called to John, who shrugged and disappeared from the flat and returned minutes later with Mrs. Hudson on his arm.

"She might." The doctor clarified. Sherlock handed the teacup to Mrs. Hudson and tapped his foot impatiently while she turned it over in her hands.

"I have a set just like these." The landlady said, handing the cup back to Sherlock. He snatched it back and stood from the table quickly, already reaching for his coat.

"Brilliant, where did you get them?" John asked. Mrs. Hudson rattled off an address and the doctor scribbled it onto a napkin, he thanked her quickly before making his way to the door and starting down the stairs.

"John, stop! Don't leave the flat!" Sherlock shouted from the doorway to 221 B. The doctor turned back and gave him a curious look that would have been accompanied by an angry protest, but he saw Sherlock staring at his phone with a stricken expression on his face. He tapped the screen once and winced when a recording started. At first everything was muffled, then something made a sliding noise like a recording device being removed from a pocket and the sounds clarified themselves.

It was someone screaming.

_"Help! Someone help!"_ The voice shrieked, accompanied by echoing laughter.

_"It'd record better if you'd scream louder. Excellent effort though, even though nobody can hear."_ Said a voice that made the hair in the back of John's neck bristle. The words blurred out briefly as whatever was recording moved and emitted a rustling sound before stilling and picking up words again. _"-il Sherlock gets here. But the best part about this game is that there are no clues for Sherlock to follow, this one I'm going to make him work for. And like I said before- when he messes up, you get the fallout."_ There was a faint clink of metal in the background, but it sounded like popping white noise before Sherlock cut the recording off and stuffed his phone into his pocket.

"John, come back. We need to rethink our movements." Sherlock said lowly and calmly. John trudged back up the stairs and past a stricken Mrs. Hudson who stumbled back to her flat wordlessly. Sherlock collapsed into his chair with a huff and bent over his knees with his fingertips steepled intently.

"We've only got a limited number of moves." He mused, "So we can't just run out to check any and every lead that presumably presents itself." John pointed at Sherlock's breast pocket vindictively.

"Was that Madeline?" He asked, Sherlock ignored him and furrowed his brow in concentration.

"Their voices were echoing, and the hair sample burned yellow with a green tinge and gave off the aroma of burning charcoal." He mused.

"So they're somewhere underground." John guessed. Sherlock nodded but didn't give verbal confirmation. "But the problem is that the majority of London _is _underground." John added. "You've got the tube lines, not to mention those old deserted stations that they used as bunkers in World War Two." Sherlock rubbed at his chin in annoyance and frowned.

"Yes but where exactly is still the question." He muttered to himself. John picked up the white teacup and rolled it in his hands.

"Mrs. Hudson said she has these in her set. Here's the address." The doctor said, handing Sherlock the napkin he'd scribbled the address on. The detective snatched the paper between two fingers and frowned at it.

"Royal China Shop at 71 Regent Street." He said. "That's ten minutes by cab. John, come along we've got a lead." Sherlock stood from his chair and brushed himself off. John followed him to the door but hesitated in the landing.

"But Sherlock, if we're wrong about this Moriarty's going to take it out on Madeline and record it." He said uncertainly. Sherlock glared at him angrily and pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time.

"Are you questioning my judgment? I've determined a lead, and that's what we're going to follow. I've also calculated the risks, and Miss Carver should be fine." He snapped, frowning and striding down the stairs. He pulled over a cab with minimal effort and waited impatiently for John to climb in. Once he had, Sherlock gave the cabbie the address and they sped off to Regent Street.

"Do you sell this kind of china?" Sherlock asked the store clerk firmly, holding up the white teacup for reference. The clerk murmured something in Pakistani, to which Sherlock responded fluently with a sharp retort. The clerk raised his eyebrows in amusement and took the cup into his hands. He studied it closely and turned it over in his hands.

"No," He said in English. "We quit selling these few years ago, and this cup isn't from here- doesn't have the store logo scratched onto the bottom." He showed Sherlock the bottom of the teacup and tapped the bottom for emphasis.

"So who does sell them?" Sherlock growled, "I need to find a supplier quickly." The clerk tapped his cheek thoughtfully and typed a quick search query into the store's computer and clicked on a couple of links before swiveling the screen around to face Sherlock.

"These are now sold by a fancy site called ecups-dot-com." He said to the detective. Sherlock narrowed his eyes briefly and crossed his arms.

"Is there any way we could contact the company to check their sales?" He asked tersely. The clerk shrugged his shoulders and coughed.

"Not sure. You could email them, but they're notorious for not responding to mail." He said. Sherlock frowned and abruptly left the store. John bid the clerk good day and left after him.

"Sherlock, now what? What if Moriarty counts that as a wrong lead?" John fretted. Sherlock ignored him and kept walking. "_Sherlock_." John reprimanded him. "You're going to have to include me on this, goddamnit." The detective huffed and slapped his hands to his sides, turning to face John irately.

"He shouldn't, there was no lead to 'ecups' that we could have found without going to that store. And if he does count it there will be hell to pay." He snapped. "But now the question is how to contact the company if they don't respond to contact very well."

"You could always call Mycroft." John suggested, "He could easily make a phone call and get their entire shipping list, even people who've just visited their site." Sherlock shook his head and resumed walking.

"We can't, apparently that counts as cheating by Moriarty's book. He's already warned me not to contact Mycroft." He muttered, "That must mean our phones are being monitored, and Scotland Yard's and Mrs. Hudson's lines must be, too. Moriarty is trying to completely discourage us from seeking… counseling from Mycroft, which must mean the next clue is within my brother's power to find."

"Or Jim knows you'd have to contact Mycroft for the information and is doing his best to be waiting for when you have to turn to him with reciprocations." John added.

"You don't think I know that?" Sherlock snapped. "Of course he does, but perhaps there's a different way we could underhandedly contact my brother and get the information without triggering a line in Moriarty's spider web." He stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned before striding down the street to a petshop. The detective glared at the puppies tumbling over each other in the window and stepped inside. John followed him curiously.

"Do you have any Irish Setters?" Sherlock asked the young woman behind the cash register. She nodded and directed him to one of the puppies in the window. Sherlock smirked satisfactorily and bought the animal, although his expression made the girl look like she regretted selling the puppy to him.

"Excellent, John. Do you know what we have to do now?" Sherlock asked once they'd left the pet shop. He shoved the perforated box containing the puppy into John's arms and kept walking.

"I have no idea." John sighed, doing his best not to jostle the box and the puppy inside it. "What's your plan of action?" Sherlock smirked and sat down on a bench by the sidewalk. He held his arms out expectantly for the box and pulled the puppy out of it. He made sure to keep the animal in plain sight in his arms while standing up and walking down the streets with John following him out of confusion.

"Mycroft has people monitoring London's security cameras for me." The detective explained out of the corner of his mouth. "Even when he hired you to look after me he still had others looking for me on the streets. Much like me and my homeless network." John nodded quietly and followed the detective for another quarter of an hour before Sherlock deigned that he'd covered enough ground to broadcast himself to Mycroft's men innocuously.

"John, go return the dog to the store we bought it from." He said, shoving the slobbering puppy back into John's arms.

"Why?" The doctor spluttered, Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away from him.

"It's served its purpose. Take it back to the store then meet me at 221 B. Hopefully our guest should be there by then." He said simply as if that explained everything. "Come in through the back door," Sherlock added over his shoulder. "Hopefully Mycroft will do the same."

. . .

"I cannot believe you carried around a puppy to snag my attention. Did you name him Redbeard II?" Mycroft jibed, Sherlock scowled at his brother and John made sure to close the door loudly and announce his arrival.

"We were unable to call you, so I made sure to draw the attention of your henchmen who patrol my movements on camera. I had an uncanny feeling you'd show up." Sherlock responded with equal gall. Mycroft folded his arms and reclined in John's chair. John stared at him crossly and took a seat at the chair by the desk while Sherlock sat in his own chair.

"So where's the little American?" The older Holmes asked uninterestedly.

"Don't act like you don't know." John interrupted him. Sherlock silenced him with a look and turned back to his brother.

"Moriarty took her at John's wedding." He explained shortly. Mycroft inclined his head to John courteously.

"Yes, many congratulations from the British Government on your new marriage." He said.

"Focus, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped. "As petty as it sounds we need you to contact a teacup company- no, don't look at me like that- and ask them to send us a list of their products, consumers, and where they sell teacups like this one." He produced the white teacup and held it out to Mycroft, whose eyebrows rose eyebrows rose even higher than before in amusement.

"I could, but it'd require an elaboration from you." He said, "Why do you want to look for teacups when your little American is missing? Do you plan to have tea with Moriarty?" Sherlock's expression didn't change at his brother's jibes, he just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He left me a clue with a lock of Miss Carver's hair in that teacup, and the cup will be a clue to their location." He elaborated tersely. Mycroft eyed the teacup profusely and frowned at it.

"So you thought signaling my subordinates and getting me to help would solve it? I already warned you, Sherlock; they're like pets. If you can't take care of them and keep track of them then you can't keep them." He said. John slid his hands over his thighs restlessly and frowned. Mycroft scowled right back at him and grabbed the teacup from Sherlock.

"I could see what I can do, but you'll owe me again, Sherlock." The older brother said patronizingly. Sherlock snatched the cup back and put it on the table beside his chair.

"Then I'm sure we can figure it out on our own." He said icily. Mycroft laced his hands together across his stomach and sighed contentedly.

"You do realize he _will _find out you asked for my help." He said irately. "Moriarty has the city rigged almost as well as my department does. It'd be in your best interests to go ahead and use me since you've got me here." John looked at Sherlock sideways.

"He's got a point, if Moriarty finds out we talked to him he's going to take it out on Madeline." John warned him.

"I know," Sherlock snapped, Mycroft wordlessly sat in the chair with a smug look on his face.

"That teacup does look familiar, I could look through my sets and see if I have some and see if I can recall where I bought them." He offered. John cut his eyes to him, not sure if Mycroft was joking or serious.

"Fine." Sherlock said, standing from his chair meaningfully and walking to the door. His brother kept the teacup in his hands and followed the detective to the exit; but Sherlock held out his hand expectantly until Mycroft handed the cup over.

"Don't get too involved. Remember once your head gets clouded you'll be useless. You'll only put her in more danger." He murmured to Sherlock. The detective glared at him and held the door open.

"Just have someone bring the results by as soon as they can." He snapped. Mycroft nodded his head and started down the stairs. "And make sure you leave inconspicuously out the back. Don't risk anyone seeing you." Sherlock added. Mycroft raised his umbrella to show he'd heard him and kept walking. Sherlock huffed and returned to his chair. John left his seat at the desk and sat in his own chair as well.

"What should we do now, Sherlock?" He asked, "Just wait it out?" Sherlock pulled out his violin and began plucking at its strings absently.

"That seems to be our only plan of action. We'll wait for Mycroft to get back to us and then keep searching. Right now it's not my first choice but we have to wait. If Moriarty sees us out and about and even thinks we're on the wrong lead he'll become violent." He murmured, tuning his violin aimlessly. John listened to Sherlock pick at the strings and pull his bow across the instrument to create bland melodies.

. . .

"They're getting absolutely nowhere!" Moriarty shouted, his voice echoing off of the pipes and making Madeline wince. "They could have solved it _so_ easily and just gotten here for the next part but they had to mess it up! Absolutely shameful. Sherlock is a disgrace to people of our intellect." He growled. He'd uncuffed Madeline's hands after the pipes had shut off and cooled down, but left her handcuffed to a set of lower pipes that had no change in temperature. She lay against the pipes limply and tried to keep from snagging Moriarty's attention with movements while he ranted on about Sherlock's incompetence.

"It's unbelievable." He said, chuckling slightly and turning back to face her. Madeline shrank back against the wall and pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering at the crazy look on his face.

"When they take longer to get here I get more time to figure out how you work." Moriarty said with a shrug, "So in reality everyone wins." He pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. Madeline's hands fell into her lap briefly but she quickly pulled them to her chest and rubbed at her wrists to reinstitute her circulation.

"You and Sherlock are unbelievably cute, you know." Jim said to her. "Almost makes me sick." He added. "When you worked together in the lab I didn't know whether to go in and shoot you myself or vomit." The criminal laughed at the surprised look on Madeline's face and chose to elaborate for her.

"I've had those cameras and microphones set up for two years. Ever since I repossessed your medicine." He said, Madeline felt her jaw drop open but closed it when Moriarty smirked with a pleased expression. "I put them in the morning before you came to work that day and they've been there ever since. Although over the last couple of years there hasn't been much activity; but then Sherlock started working in your lab…" Jim hooked his thumbs in his waistband happily. "Then it made me glad I'd put those in there. You two were so cute!" He clutched his fists to his chest like he was cooing over a puppy, and Madeline resisted the urge to spit at him. Jim noticed the malice on her face and smiled broadly.

"And you. You're just a little piece of work." He said softly, trailing the backside of his fingers down Madeline's cheek. She automatically flinched away from the cliché move and Jim shrugged. "At first I didn't have a hold on Sherlock, then John Watson came along and gave me a foothold. It was great, I was able to get to Sherlock through the doctor for a good while- and then you came along." Moriarty leaned back on his heels and laughed at the ceiling, Madeline shifted uncomfortably and tried to move away from the madness he was exuding.

"I know, I know. I'm monologuing like a classic villain, just give me a second or two. Who doesn't want a good old villain anyway?" Jim said before picking up where he'd left off. "I really thought Sherlock and the doctor were going to get together in the end; but eventually it was you." He sniggered, "It's just unbelievable. Sherlock's exposing so many soft sides that someone's bound to stick a knife in one of them." Moriarty stood up until he towered above Madeline ominously and pressed one finger to his chest.

"And of course that someone's going to be me." He said with a grin. "You're his little damsel of Baker Street, and it'll be interesting to see his reaction with just you instead of with Dr. Watson included." Madeline felt a sudden angry rush of confidence and did her best to sit forward and leer at Moriarty.

"So what are you going to do now?" She growled, "Torture me?" She barked out a strained laugh and stared the criminal right in the eyes. "That won't work, 'cause you're talking to the suicidal girl." Jim threw his head back again and laughed, and Madeline recoiled slightly. When Moriarty's laughter had subsided into giggles he leaned forward menacingly.

"That's a lie and you and I both know it. You're an on-again off-again switch with your death wishes; but you know you really want to live. You've got a reason to." Madeline glared at him and shook her head furiously.

"It won't work. I'll die, and Sherlock won't bat an eye. I don't mind dying." She snapped, trying to keep her voice from breaking into a squeaky treble. Moriarty rolled his eyes and let a sick smile slide onto his face slowly. "I don't mind dying." Madeline repeated quickly. Although it seemed like she was trying to convince herself.

"You do. You shy away from other people's deaths but you don't mind bringing on your own. But when I offer it to you, you cower and refuse. You laugh at chaos, don't you?" He cooed, "You smile at the destruction you bring yourself but do nothing to fix it. And when you're offered what you want-"Jim flipped a knife out of his pocket and waved it past her face tenderly, narrowing his eyes when Madeline flinched away from it. "You cow away from it, and in my eyes that makes you the worst kind of person.

"And by the way, Sherlock would care. Even if he doesn't _love_ you like he apparently does he'll still care. You and I both know Sherlock hates losing." Jim said pointedly. His hand shot out and wrapped around Madeline's right forearm and slowly brought it to rest against the floor. In his other hand he flipped the knife between his fingers expertly while Madeline used her left hand to try and free her other arm.

"Sit still," Moriarty warned her, "When you squirm I might miss and cut something I shouldn't have." Madeline's eyes widened in panic and she jerked away from him, even though he still pinned her arm in place.

"Help!" She screamed, "Please, help!" Jim leaned back on his heels and sighed, still keeping Madeline's forearm pinned to the floor awkwardly.

"If you don't be quiet I'll pull a nail for every time you scream, and after we run out of those I'll start pulling teeth. You don't want to return to Sherlock unable to smile do you?" He growled at her. Madeline unwillingly quieted down and clenched her teeth together tightly in anticipation. Moriarty grinned and slowly dragged the knife handle over her skin slightly, then the blade. He didn't break the skin until his third pass over her arm, where he added just a little bit of pressure and pulled the knife across. It stung, but not horribly. It was like one of the tiny cat scratches Madeline had inflicted on herself when she felt the black creeping in.

_My medicine._ She thought suddenly. _I don't have my medicine!_ Moriarty turned the knife and applied more painful pressure, making the blood appear before the shadow of his hand was even over the start of the cut. Madeline hissed in pain and tried to pull away, but it felt like her arm was bolted to the ground. She pressed her teeth together harder to keep from voicing her pain.

"You've probably heard this in a lot of the books you've read; but I can confirm it from experience," Jim said. "You never feel more alive than when you're killing someone." He smiled deviously at her and pulled a phone out of his pocket. He snapped a quick photograph of her arm and then pocketed the device and pushed himself to his feet.

As soon as his hand left Madeline's skin she cradled her arm to her chest and surveyed the damage. Jim had left her with cuts of varying lengths up and down her forearm, but none of the marks went near the vulnerable veins on her wrist. Moriarty stepped forward and used the handcuffs to chain Madeline's left wrist to the pipe running by her ear but left her right wrist free so she could clutch it to her chest.

"See, I'm not as cruel as you'd like to think." The criminal said, "Suspending your other arm would change your blood flow- you'd probably bleed out in a couple of hours." Madeline glared at him and pulled on the handcuff chain to help herself stagger to her feet. She pressed the inside of her forearm to her stomach protectively and glared at Moriarty.

"You just don't want me to die _yet_." She snapped, Jim shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

"Well I can't figure out how you work if you're dead. I plan to take you apart- physically and mentally- one layer at a time until either Sherlock gets here or I accidentally break you." He sneered at her. Madeline tried to keep herself from cowering against the pipes and jerked at the chain on her wrist.

"Sherlock will get here first."

"Maybe. That's how he gets his kicks, he risks his life all for the sake of proving he's clever and knows what's going on, but I think I got him this time." Jim said conceitedly. "I could pull a tooth for every time Sherlock messes up in this round, but you only have so many teeth." Madeline fell silent and slowly leaned back against the pipes again.

"He'll get here." She murmured, "He will."

Jim laughed.

**A.N.- EXAMS ARE OVER! WHOO I HAVE THE REST OF THIS YEAR TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS.**

**I own nothing in this fandom except for my wayward plotline and my lovely damaged OC Miss Madeline Carver, the Dame of Baker Street. XD**

**Ugh my exams were crazy. Absolutely crazy. So yeah there's a virtual tour of Parliament's basement if you want to see where they are. They're still in the main room under the lobby just so ya know. ^.^**

**If anyone needs clarification on anything just message me, cause I don't think I explained stuff well enough. **


	30. Chapter 30

**A.N.- Remember there's a virtual tour of Parliament's current basement. **

**The Archfiend- Thank you! But think- Sherlock Holmes doesn't do puppies. Think of the load he'd have to deal with from Mycroft. **

**MidnightRaine- Yeah I took my birthday off and then blew all my exams out in the next couple of days. Now I'm in Florida with my family celebrating my birthday!**

**Grace- Thank you, sometimes I get a little nervous with his character… he's really unpredictable so I'm afraid I'll get too OOC with him. And yeah, then mental (and physical) abuse he's doling out to Madeline is going to stay with her for a little bit. My friend (RomeoBlack123) blew through all of Sherlock in about two weeks, even though I had already watched it all and warned her to ration it out. Then she burst into my room shouting about needing a new season, etc, etc.**

** \- Awwh thanks! You're too kind. Jim is a very different sort of crazy than I'm used to writing. **

**Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 30

"They sell largely in London." John relayed, shuffling through the shipping and consumer logs Mycroft had inconspicuously dropped off at Baker Street. "They've got consumers everywhere- Parliament, tea shops, your brother's Diogenes Club is on here. Ugh why _teacups_ in _England_?" He groaned, flipping through the papers quickly and discarding them on the table beside him. Sherlock frowned and steepled his fingers in front of his nose severely.

"It's common, but not so common that it wouldn't be easy to find." He murmured to himself. John knitted his eyebrows and went back to thumbing through the log. Sherlock's phone moaned huskily but John rolled his eyes and ignored it. The detective dug the device out of his pocket and read the message.

_**Ready for another clue? It might cost a finger or two. –JM**_ Sherlock scowled and texted him back.

_**Of course not. We're catching up. –SH **_He responded. Jim's response pinged in a minute later, obviously orchestrated to be as irritating as possible.

_**Maybe, but I thought I warned you not to tell Big Brother. –JM **_It read. Sherlock felt a little stab of cold concern through his blanket of chagrin and irritation as he texted back; but mostly he was angry Moriarty had found out about Mycroft's involvement. It made Sherlock feel like he wasn't winning.

_**You know as well as I there was no way to get that clue. –SH**_ He texted back, sending the text with relish.

_**At least not without consulting Mycroft. –SH **_He added after a moment's thought. His phone moaned again and John raised his eyebrows.

_**Actually you could have, or you could have given up. –JM**_ Sherlock narrowed his eyes angrily and texted back.

_**I won't. I'm going to win.**_ He said, forgetting to add his initials. There was no way he was going to lose a game to Moriarty. Jim had bested Sherlock by fooling him for the last two years and the detective was not about to forfeit his pride to the criminal.

_**Be careful with that attitude. You're hurting her. –JM (**__Multimedia message attached, select to view.)_ Sherlock's phone declared. He gingerly hit the attachment and opened the file. Sherlock's reaction was small, he clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes briefly. John looked up out of concern.

"Sherlock? What is it?" He asked, Sherlock made to pocket his phone again then changed his mind and turned it around to show John. The screen displayed a picture with horrible lighting and poor image quality; but still with an emphasis on the subject in the middle. An arm stretched across the picture, intersected with bright red lines that glistened in whatever light was in the room. Underneath them Sherlock recognized the array of pale pink scars he'd committed to memory. John inhaled deeply and pushed the phone away.

"That's her arm, isn't it?" He said quietly, "Moriarty found out." Sherlock ignored him and quickly dialed Jim's number. There were too many words sprinting through his head to send over a text.

_"Hello?"_ A voice said cordially.

"You're being immensely pig headed and irritably stupid at the moment." Sherlock snarled into the receiver. The person on the other side gasped.

_"No, Sherlock Holmes making a_ phone call_?_ _Why the very _notion_…"_Moriarty said in a mocking tone. Sherlock drummed his fingers in his lap irritably and ignored John's look of surprise he was still wearing.

"You knew we'd have to consult Mycroft to get the next clue, you designed the game to penalize at every turn." The detective said lowly. Moriarty chuckled and sighed.

_"Actually you could have taken a shortcut, but you went the other direction and made the round more arduous."_ He corrected, _"But it's okay, hopefully you can backtrack enough and pull through anyway."_ A rusty sound like a metal door opening and closing reached across the call to Sherlock's side of the phone and made images of castle dungeons spring into the detective's mind of their own accord. He immediately began rolling through his list of buildings with underground areas barred by metal doors and winced at the immense list he compiled.

_"Anyway, Sherlock I thought you could use some motivation, you know? Something to speed the game along, as much as I love playing it." _Jim said jovially like he was talking about something as casual as the weather.

"Yes so you butchered Miss Carver's arm. Your sense of originality is astounding." Sherlock said wryly. Moriarty huffed before speaking again, but it wasn't to Sherlock.

_"Say hi."_

_"Sherlock?"_ Someone said quietly, the detective immediately put his phone on speaker and held it out for John to hear.

"Miss Carver," Sherlock said emotionlessly, "Are you alright?" There was a moment of silence before Madeline responded.

_"Yeah."_ She said. John furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock shook his head and took the call off of speaker phone. He listened in silence until Madeline spoke again, pushing her words out as fast as she could.

_"Sherlock, we're in th-"_

"_No_. Don't tell me anything about where you are." Sherlock cut across her. "It's dangerous for you and it's cheating for me. I'll find it myself, just stay there." Moriarty chuckled into the receiver, distorting the sound of the call with puffs of air.

_"He's clever,"_ The criminal said to Madeline. _"Knows not to allow information giveaways. That's happened before- and it wasn't pretty. So what was the point of your call?"_ He said, returning his attention to Sherlock.

"I called to let you know you shouldn't get too comfortable. I am figuring out everything I need to, and I will catch up to you soon. It was just too demanding to cram into a meager text." Sherlock said smoothly. Moriarty laughed,

_"Of cou-rse. Su-ure. Don't take too long, then. We'll see you soon." _He said, there was a small pause before he continued. _"Anything to add, Miss Carver?"_ He asked. Sherlock leaned forward a little bit, listening.

_"Sher-"_Madeline started, but the call dropped dead. Sherlock frowned and leaned back in his chair, pocketing his phone in his pocket as he did so. John regarded the detective with a cautious glance before leaning forward to ask questions.

"Was that Madeline? What did she say?" He asked. Sherlock rolled his eye and reached for the teacup shipping logs.

"Technically it was Moriarty. Madeline spoke a total of six-and-a-half words and eight syllables." He answered. John sighed and shook his head.

"That's not what I meant. Did you gather anything?" He said, revising his questions and restating them.

"Only a little bit. I heard a metal door opening and closing before Moriarty held the phone to Miss Carver. The sound of the call became slightly fuzzy for a moment, and the sound of their voices echoed."

"But what if the echoing was just part of the call interference?"

"No, the reverberation was different. It echoed like in a large chamber or room."

"So they were underground." John said, Sherlock sighed.

"Yes, we've already established that fact. The dirt on Madeline's hair sample clarified it first. We have almost all of the information we need; but something is missing that I cannot place." He murmured, leaning his cheek on one hand and flipping through the register nonchalantly with the other.

"Sherlock, do you think we could check in with Scotland Yard? They might be able to shed some light." John suggested.

"No," Sherlock snapped. "That's ridiculous. It's obvious Moriarty won't take kindly to outside help." John tapped his fingers on his knee irritably.

"It seems like you're just reluctant to try our options." He said seriously. The detective ignored him and kept flipping through his logs. "Sherlock, I'm serious!" John said, standing from his chair and crossing his arms angrily. Sherlock flipped the log shut and tossed it onto the desk with a smack.

"As am I." He retorted. "It's pointless to worry, it won't help Miss Carver any more than throwing a pitcher of water onto a housefire. I am trying, but has it occurred to you, John that I'm trying not to impale my common sense on chivalry? We'll find Madeline." Sherlock finished, making to reach for his violin, but then stopping short and folding his arms over each other. John nodded after a moment of terse silence and took his seat again.

"So what's your plan?" He asked.

"I'm not sure as of yet." Sherlock said simply, "But I won't lose."

. . .

"He's coming." Madeline said, leaning against the pipes out of relief and releasing a tense breath she had been holding for what seemed like forever. She'd been repeating the same mantra and action for the last hour since Sherlock's phone call to Moriarty had ended. Her arm stung and oozed blood if she moved too quickly, but despite her blood loss she had felt immensely relieved just to hear Sherlock's voice.

"Repeating a lie doesn't make it true." Moriarty sang, leaning against the wall opposite her during one of his periodic visits. Madeline glared at him and shifted against the pipes. Her body tracked him with all of her available senses like her skin was attentive metal and he was a buzzing magnet. She could sense where he was standing, even if she couldn't see him.

"He is. He said it himself." She spat. Moriarty grinned at her with a smile that bordered on a leer and stepped across the yellow argyle pattern on the floor. He slowly reached for Madeline's left wrist and unhooked the handcuff, allowing her left arm to fall beside her right in her lap.

She jerked to the side and tried to get her legs underneath her, but Jim smirked and grabbed her by the hair he hadn't cut on her left side and jerked her back. Madeline shrieked, wincing at the reverberation of her scream against the metal surrounding her and tried to pull away from Moriarty's grip. He sighed and drew his hand back sharply, making the back of Madeline's skull collide with the pipe directly behind her. She groaned and tried to curl inwards into a fetal position, but Moriarty's grip on her hair kept her from doing so.

"I'm losing my patience: with you _and_ with Sherlock. His know-it-all attitude is highly aggravating." He snapped.

"You mean like yours?" Madeline bit out between gritted teeth. Jim jerked on her hair again and she winced when she felt some of her hairs detach from her scalp.

"I'm more adept than Sherlock in every way possible. He's killed himself by attaching himself to you and Dr. Watson like a crutch. It's pathetic." Moriarty snarled. Madeline didn't respond and fixed her eyes on a swath of pavement in front of her, determined not to let any more weak noises slip out of her mouth. Jim flipped the same knife out of his pocket that he'd used to cut her arm, and Madeline flinched. She tried to twist away but Moriarty's grip on her hair held her fast.

"Quit it and sit still." He growled at her. The criminal used the elbow of the arm holding Madeline's hair to nudge her left arm forward. He pinned the appendage to the ground by the crook of her arm with his knee so that the palm of her left hand was pressed to the cold floor. Madeline squirmed and tried to pull her uninjured arm away but it felt like her bones were breaking. Moriarty stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration and slowly drew the knife blade over the back of Madeline's immobilized hand. He cut one slanted line down her skin but stopped when Madeline let a small scream jump from her mouth.

"Sherlock!" She shouted, choking off her words at the malevolent look on Moriarty's face.

"Most women scream someone's name in ecstasy. Why are you screaming his in pain?" He asked, tilting his head out of what seemed like genuine confusion. Madeline ignored him and twisted her head as much as Moriarty's grip would allow to try and shake the pain off, but another shrill squeak fought its way out. "We already discussed the screaming, hush." Jim said sharply, twirling the knife and pressing the red-tinted point of the knife to Madeline's neck. She bit her lip hard and pressed her head against the pipes in an effort to keep quiet. Moriarty nodded once in satisfaction and went back to his job. He cut three more sloping lines into the back of Madeline's hand while her legs kicked and slipped against the floor as she fought to reign in her screams. Jim sat back and admired his work, a large red _M_ carved onto the back of Madeline's hand.

"That's for his impudent phone call." Moriarty growled, smirking at her before standing and disappearing into the hazy mist settling across Madeline's vision from the pain. She laid there motionlessly, not even sure if the criminal was in the room with her or not. After what seemed like hours Madeline was able to clutch at her wrist and pull her hand to her chest. It took her a second before she realized that she was able to move her hands freely without them being restricted by handcuffs.

Madeline sat forward slowly and pushed herself onto her hands and knees, her arms gave out once but she managed to stay in a stable position while she tried to collect herself to stand. When Madeline finally made it to her feet her vision began to swim dangerously, but she was able to move freely. She made her way to what she presumed was an exit- a ladder- and began to climb it. She winced as her arms ached and blood ran down her forearms and dripped off of her elbows back to the concrete far below. After she made it to the top, Madeline opened the door labeled "exit" and pushed through it into a crowded lobby full of school groups and tour guides. The people stopped and stared at her in her dirty state and bloody arms while she was wearing a formal dress.

"Miss, do you need help?" A tour guide asked timidly. Madeline swung around, using her butchered hand to clasp her maimed arm firmly to her side. She ignored the people around her and stumbled outside into an even larger crowd.

Madeline found herself standing on the front steps of Parliament at the junction of the government building to London Bridge. She clutched her arm against herself to shelter it and began to half limp/ half sprint through the streets at an agonizingly slow pace.

. . .

Sherlock was pacing again. He'd been treading back and forth on the carpet for the last hour, and to John it seemed the detective had formed absolutely nothing substantial to go off of. Sherlock startled John by huffing and stopping in front of the fireplace.

"It seems we have no choice," He said. "I have an idea, but I'll need absolute affirmation. We can't risk another false lead." John resisted the urge to cock his head to the side out of confusion and instead settled for a creative question.

"What? Why?"

"_Because_, John. Think. Underground, dirty, teacups- _white porcelain_ teacups nonetheless, and Mycroft said the cup looked familiar. Think- where does Mycroft spend most of his time?" Sherlock asked, John tapped his fingers on his knee.

"Everywhere, he's the British Government." Sherlock spun around and snapped his fingers in John's direction.

"_Exactly._ He is the British Government. So ponder for a second- where would he be that's partially underground and quite filthy but still uses white porcelain teacups?" He said in one breath, relishing in the look of realization that dawned across John's face when he realized the answer.

"Parliament." The doctor whispered. Sherlock nodded fervently, exuberant with himself and pleased that he'd figured it out and a little irked the answer hadn't come to him sooner.

"Call Mycroft and ask him if the cups he remembered were from Parliament." Sherlock directed. John shook his head furiously.

"Are you mad? Absolutely not! Moriarty will kill Madeline if he even thinks we considered asking your brother again!" He argued.

"We'll have to be quick about it, then." Sherlock said, already gathering his coat and winding his scarf around his neck. "We'll beat him to it." He snatched John's mobile from the desk and tossed it into its owner's lap.

"Sherlock, this is a shot in the dark. I-"

"John hurry up and make the call, if Moriarty is already onto us the game is as good as over." Sherlock cut across him, standing by the door impatiently. John but the inside of his cheek and dialed the last alias number the older Holmes had contacted him with.

"_Hello, Dr. Watson. What are you inquir-"_

"Mycroft we need to know if those teacups you remembered were from Parliament's chambers." John said brazenly, interrupting the man midsentence. Mycroft responded with a bit of an irritated edge to his voice.

_"I'm not sure. And the relevance of this call is…?"_ He asked sardonically, Sherlock stepped forward and snatched the phone from John's hand.

"If you can somehow jog your memory I can produce Jim Moriarty's head on a platter." He said while pulling his handgun from the desk drawer and stuffing it into his pocket. His brother was absolutely silent for a moment before he gave his response.

_"Yes, I suppose they might have been cups from a Parliamentary meeting. Are you saying your little American is locked in the speaker's podium?"_ Mycroft asked, but after the first word Sherlock had tossed the phone to John and bolted from the flat in a focused state of excitement with a determined look plastered across his face. John disconnected the call and hurried after him, not sure which mode of transport would get them there faster.

"The Tube's too crowded right now." Sherlock reminded him. "Don't even think about it; with the afternoon crowd it'll be almost impossible to get there. A cab will work better than simply travelling on foot, but we'll need to walk a few streets to get around the heavy traffic if we're to get there soon." He added. John followed him wordlessly, patting his pocket instinctively for his pistol and realizing with an angry feeling he'd left it back in 221 B.

Sherlock rounded a corner sharply and raised his hand to hail a cab almost too easily, but the vehicle pulled to a stop on the curb. John and the detective stepped in, then gave the cabbie simple directions to Parliament. The driver nodded and accelerated when Sherlock tossed a handful of pound notes over the seat into his lap. Within fifteen minutes the cabbie had the two standing outside of Parliament with its tall spires and many windows. Sherlock and John wasted no time in going inside and shoving past all the school groups to reach the visitor's entrance to the basement. All the groups seemed fidgety and filled with a sort of nervous energy; and when Sherlock and John reached the door they found guards bolting the door shut.

"Someone came out of there." John heard someone whisper, "A guy before, and then a girl. I thought the place had been closed for the week." The doctor pushed forward suddenly, and Sherlock matched stride with him until they were right at the basement door.

"Scotland Yard. We need you to unbar that door right now." Sherlock demanded, flipping a random business card out of his pocket and returning it before the guards could even look at it. His eyes darted up and down their uniforms and posture.

_**Military posture,**_

_**No scars,**_

_**Clean shaven,**_

_**Shaving cream behind the left one's right ear,**_

_**Radio, frequently used on single station used by Parliament building workers.**_

_**Conclusion: True Parliamentary guards.**_

John flipped open his wallet and showed off his military ID to try and hold some sway over the guards, but they frowned at him.

"Sorry, sir." One of them said. "We're waiting for someone to get over here from headquarters."

"We _are_ from headquarters," John insisted, slipping into his "Captain John Watson" voice. "You need to open this door, or you'll be impeding a police investigation." He added sharply. One guard shifted uncomfortably at being addressed by someone higher ranking than he, but the other guard stood firm.

"Not allowed to." He said simply. "If I'm doing my job wrong feel free to complain to Parliament, sir." John growled and stepped away, with an almost amused Sherlock beside him.

"I didn't know you knew words as big as 'impeding'." He observed. John glared at him.

"Quit mucking around and start caring. This is getting serious." He snapped. Sherlock's smirk disappeared as he led John around to another door.

"Will this take us to the basement?" The doctor asked. Sherlock shrugged.

"My only hope is that it can take us down next to or close to it, then we might be able to hear if Moriarty is still inside." He explained.

"But the person in the lobby said they saw a man leave. That must've been him." John argued.

"Yes and every man you see on the street is the future Prince of Wales." Sherlock snapped, letting a little bit of his irritation and stress bleed through. "The best we can do is try to get down there or pinpoint Moriarty's whereabouts. Wherever he is will be where Madeline is." He murmured, opening the door. "Let's go."

**A.N.- I could have made this longer, but I decided to split it up into a couple of chapters to keep the suspense running. Hope nobody's angry XD.**

**So yes- Orlando was lovely. I had this chapter done a few days ago but I had absolutely no wi-fi ANYWHERE in the state so I sat and stared at the chapter while it stared back at me and begged me to reread/ edit it. **

**And so I did. XD**


	31. Chapter 31

**A.N.- I'm sorry! I meant to have this up as a Christmas present but words wouldn't come forth!**

**Clara- Thanks! This is my first time writing for such a big fandom and there are so many Sherlock fics. I am deeply honored ****.**

**God is Wearing Black- I'm so deeply sorry. I've been clean since I started early college (and up until a couple weeks ago- I've figured out my mother and her pressure is one of my biggest triggers unfortunately) but I do understand the urges and deep emptiness. I tried to overdose once on Ibuprofen (my mom is a nurse and my dad is a doctor so we have scalpels and a bunch of medicine in our house) but it didn't work. After that I stuck with just cutting myself because I didn't want to go to Hell. (As my religion dictates.) I tried to write Madeline as a character people could relate to, but I'm also afraid someone might be triggered by the content (especially Jim's… stuff. That man is crazy.) Feel free to send me a PM if you wanna talk or are feeling down. I may be clean now but I'm always here. ^_^ Thanks for supporting the story!**

**Disclaimer- I own my OC Madeline Carver, everything else belongs to BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Stephen Moffat.**

**WARNING- I probably should have said it in the last chapter but this could be a potential trigger for some people. Please read at your own discretion and be safe.**

**Thanks everyone!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 31

Madeline limped as she hurried down the street. She wrapped the remains of her torn sleeves around her forearms and pressed the extremities close to her sides to keep from drawing unwanted attention. Her vision swam every few steps, but she kept hobbling through the maze of London with all of its identical blocks until she finally turned onto a recognizable street. Madeline limped to the 221 apartments and nudged the door open with her shoulder.

"Sherlock?" She called, "Mrs. Hudson, John?" A split second later Mrs. Hudson had bustled out of her flat and into the landing in a hurry.

"What's wrong, dear? You're all scratched up." She said fretfully. Madeline steadied herself on the banister and tried to catch her breath.

"Sherlock- is he, is he here?" She gasped, Mrs. Hudson pressed her hand to her collarbone and shook her head.

"No, he's out looking for you dear." She said quietly. Madeline swayed for a second on the rail and growled in frustration before spinning around and making her way back out into the street.

"Madeline! Come back!" Mrs. Hudson shouted after her.

"Come _on_ dammit!" Madeline muttered through gritted teeth, waving her unwounded hand above her head to hail a cab. Three of them sped by her before she stepped into the road and blatantly splayed her arms in front of one. The vehicle screeched to a halt but couldn't stop fast enough, it bumped into Madeline's legs and made her jump back a little. She splayed her palms across the hood to balance herself with a wince then hurried around to the side of the cab and threw the door open.

"Drive me to Parliament." Madeline panted to the cabbie. He spun around in his seat and fixed her with an angry glare.

"Look lady, I'm not driving you anywhere with an attitude like that." He snapped, his eyes widening in a mix of horror and surprise when his gaze travelled over the bloody scraps of cloth covering Madeline's arms and the still bleeding "M" etched into the back of her hand.

"_Now_." Madeline growled through her teeth to keep herself from crying. The cabbie turned around and pushed his cab into gear, then gunned the cab down the street at a dangerous pace without a word.

"Lady, I think you should call the police or something for those. Are you alright?" He asked, looking at Madeline in the rearview mirror. She shook her head and pulled her arms closer to her chest.

"Hurry, please." She said meekly, devoid of her anger and just filled with determination. The cabbie shook his head and wove between other cars, finally pulling to a sharp stop in front of Parliament's front steps. Madeline braced herself against the seat in front of her with a wince and had the door open before the car even stopped. She stumbled out of the car and tripped over the first three steps awkwardly but pushed herself back to her feet.

"Hey! You sure you don't need help?" The cabbie shouted after her. Madeline spun around, clutching her arms to her sides and shaking her head.

"No, I'm fine. And don't call the police!" She shouted over her shoulder, turning around and continuing up the stairs. She was able to run up the stairs without falling over and having her vision squirm, but had to lean against the front door for a second to catch her breath. She jerked the door open and dragged herself inside.

Parliament's lobby was virtually empty, the last dregs of the visiting crowd were draining out through the doors while being ushered out by security guards in blue. Madeline pulled her arms closer to herself and wove between the visitors cautiously, ducking underneath the guards and pressing herself against the wall in hopes they wouldn't notice her. She slipped into one of the restrooms and silently locked the door behind her, then began to try and wash her arms in the sink while she waited for everyone to leave.

. . .

"These walls are too thick, Sherlock." John said, slapping his palm against the stone wall with a resounding smack. Sherlock shrugged and took a seat against the far wall, crossing his legs over each other and leaning his head back with his eyes closed. John paced around on the floor furiously while Sherlock remained motionless. The detective's only motion was the nervous tapping of his fingers on his left knee as he waited silently.

"So what are we here for, then?" John said suddenly. "Are we planning to wait until closing or until we hear something?" He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently on the concrete beneath his feet while Sherlock sat in silence.

"We're waiting until the crowds clear out. The guards wouldn't let us into the basement any other way." He murmured, still tapping a fast rhythm on his leg. John sighed and ran his hands over his face.

"That's another thing." He said shortly. "Parliament has night guards, what are we going to do about those?" Sherlock allowed a knowing smile to bend the corner of his mouth into a smirk.

"Moriarty will have that taken care of one way or another." He said, not losing pace with the rhythm of his fingers. "All we have to do is wait a little longer and then take action."

"Yeah well the waiting is killing me." John muttered. Sherlock inclined his head to show that he'd heard the doctor and kept drumming his fingers on his knee. John impatiently checked his watch what seemed like a million times before Sherlock sprang to his feet and threw open the door. He gestured to John briefly before bolting up the stairs with the doctor on his heels.

The two of them slowly crept through the lobby, alert to any small noises or sounds. They crossed the empty lobby and ignored the locked basement door. Sherlock led John to a maintenance hatch that was unlocked and glared at the gloomy space below him. He nodded at John before starting down the adjoining ladder. The detective dropped from the last few rungs of the ladder to the ground, noting the small spatters of blood on the lower rungs and the concrete below the ladder. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and stepped aside so John could follow him down. The detective pulled a torch from his pocket and lit it, swiveling its light into the dark recesses of the basement that the dim light didn't reach. Sherlock passed the flashlight to John and reached into his pocket for his gun, but didn't draw it out. An inhuman scream ricocheted off of the surrounding stone and concrete as a wild blur of brown and lavender lunged at them. John jumped back and Sherlock swung a hand up instinctively to deter the attacker. They hit him squarely in the cheek with an open hand, and when they fled to the far side of the room John swung the flashlight beam at them.

"John!" Madeline gasped, "Sherlock!" She staggered by the wall, and finally stumbled into better lighting. Her appearance elicited a wince from John and a tight-lipped look from Sherlock. The detective reached up and wiped at his cheek where Madeline had hit him, and scowled at his fingers when they came away tinted in pink and red hues.

"You're bleeding." He noted tonelessly, Madeline's eyes widened as she held her hand up in front of her face and surveyed the blood travelling down her hand with a weak but horrified expression. John shoved the torch back at Sherlock. He stepped forward with a severe look on his face.

"Madeline," He said in a demanding doctor's voice, "Go ahead and lay down. You look pale and dizzy."

"Yeah sorry about that. She wasn't supposed to lose that much blood." An eerie voice said, Madeline spun in a tight circle, trying to locate the voice's origin. Sherlock immediately tilted his head up towards the ceiling and frowned. Moriarty leaned on the railing of the catwalk and waved at the detective with one hand lazily. Madeline turned to keep him in her sight and took a step back across the yellow diamonds towards Sherlock and John. Jim laughed and pointed his finger at her like a gun.

"Don't move," He said politely. "There's only so much blood in your body, and moving too much doesn't really help, does it?" He leaned back and disappeared from the rail. Madeline edged forwards towards John and Sherlock but the detective shook his head slightly at her and she edged back to her side of the room. Moriarty strolled into the bottom level of the basement with his hands casually in his pockets and his feet scuffing before him like a schoolboy. He skipped once before coming to a stop between Madeline and the others. He spread his hands out in a welcoming manner and grinned.

"And you made it! What do you think Sherlock, are you impressed?" He said. Sherlock frowned at him and crossed his arms.

"Just mildly inconvenienced." He responded. "But what I want to know is how you survived your own gunshot to the head."

"Shot with a blank." Jim said gleefully, "It singed some of my taste buds and left a nasty taste in my mouth but the expression on your face-"He laughed. "-it was _priceless_. You didn't really think I'd do it, did you Sherlock?" The detective displayed what looked like an apathetic expression to Madeline, but Moriarty just smiled.

"Glad you enjoyed it. Sorry it was such a grievance to you for the last two years. You just can't handle not knowing, can you?" He added teasingly, noting how Sherlock's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The criminal winked and slid towards Madeline. She shied away from him on wobbly legs but couldn't move fast enough. Moriarty's hand shot out and closed around Madeline's left hand, she jerked backwards and yelped in pain. The "M" carved onto her hand began to bleed even more profusely, and John stepped forwards furiously.

"Let go of her." He demanded. Moriarty rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in momentary contemplation.

"No." He said finally, sounding like a stubborn child who knew exactly what he was doing. "Mary, come on out." He called. "It's your time to shine." John knitted his eyebrows in confusion, then stepped back in surprise when his new wife stepped onto the yellow argyle pattern, dressed completely in black. She gave John a glance that was a mix of apathy and panic.

"Mary!" John breathed. "Let her go." He snarled at Moriarty. The criminal shrugged and lifted the hand still wrapped around Madeline's. She winced.

"I'm not holding her prisoner." He said. "She's standing here because it's her job." Mary pulled a small, compact handgun from nowhere and aimed it at Sherlock first, then John. He stared at the silencer attached to the gun his wife was pointing at him.

"I'm sorry, John." She said quietly. "It's my job." Sherlock coughed and John rounded on him angrily.

"You knew, didn't you?" He said accusingly. "You read it off of her a while ago."

"From the first look I knew that she was not who she seemed." Sherlock said coldly. "I didn't know she was Moriarty's henchwoman." Mary's eyes narrowed visibly and her grip tightened on the gun. John ran his fingers through his hair angrily.

"And you didn't bother to tell me before I _married_ her? Sherlock!" He said furiously. Sherlock's expression didn't change, it remained closed off and guarded.

"John, back to the matter at hand." He said lowly. Moriarty rolled his eyes and yawned obtrusively. He shifted his grip on Madeline's hand and used the fingers on his other hand to smear them in the blood leaking out of her wound. The criminal winked at Sherlock before beginning to paint on Madeline's face with her own blood. She tried to pull away from him but seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness to the point where she was hanging from Moriarty's hand while he finger painted on her face.

"And there's nothing he can do," Moriarty sang quietly, grinning at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. The detective looked apathetic, and John looked outright furious, but they couldn't move forward while Mary still had her gun pointed at them.

"I don't see the point of this." Sherlock stated. Jim smirked and finished adding gruesome cat whiskers to Madeline's face. She whimpered when he squeezed her wounded arm painfully and blood dripped off of her elbow onto the floor.

"_Because_. It's fun. I think I figured out your awful fascination with her; she appears so normal and boring but hides nothing but broken fractals underneath. Very amusing, actually. I enjoyed widening the cracks." Moriarty crowed giddily. Sherlock remained expressionless, but Jim saw his left hand clench and then reopen quickly.

"I wonder if you can still put the pieces back together when we're done?" The criminal asked casually. His smile grew even wider when he saw Sherlock's jaw clench for a fraction of a second. It was then he realized he was winning.

Moriarty dropped Madeline's arm, letting her fall to the ground at his feet and stepping over her towards Sherlock.

"I find it severely disheartening what you've done to yourself, Sherlock." Jim said, shaking his head and clucking his tongue like he was scolding a child. John balled his hands and glared at Mary, who almost looked remorseful.

"Is that so?" Sherlock snapped, allowing a little bit of his anger to bleed through since Moriarty had let go of Madeline and she was temporarily out of harm's way.

"I love how we bicker like an old married couple. Don't you love it too, Sherlock?" Moriarty said. Sherlock scowled at him and reached into his pocket to wrap his hand around his gun.

"Ooh look at you." Moriarty jibed, pressing his hand to his chest in a sincere motion. "Feel safer with a gun? I'm honored you consider me such a threat." Mary swiveled her gun and trained it on Sherlock. John shook his head at her with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"I can't believe you." He growled. Mary gave him an almost sorrowful look before turning her attention back to Sherlock and Moriarty. "No, you keep that gun pointed at me," John snapped. His wife looked at him with surprise but kept the gun trained on Sherlock's chest. Moriarty rolled his eyes and shifted his weight.

"You can go ahead and shoot him, Miss Morstan." He drawled.

"Watson." She snapped before lowering her eyes when Moriarty glared at her. Madeline groaned and groggily pushed herself up again behind Moriarty's back, Sherlock didn't look away from the criminal but his frown deepened and he shook his head. Madeline lowered herself back to the ground and pretended she was still unconscious while her mind tried to clear itself and think of a plan. She listened to Sherlock and Moriarty converse in front of her, and she could hear John and Mary shifting their weight on their feet anxiously.

"So you planted clues knowing they'd require assistance and designed them to penalize." Sherlock deadpanned. Jim hooked his thumbs in his pockets and grinned.

"Yup. Although I was hoping you'd be smarter and figure it out on your own. You see what I meant when I said feelings slow you down? You're stepping off of your game." He said, sighing and shaking his head.

"That's a cowardly move for you. Normally you'd have a spotlight show planned." Sherlock pointed out. Jim spread his hands out and spun in a tight circle.

"Then what's this? I kept the chase the same- didn't you love it? And I do have a crescendo planned." He said, sounding a little hurt as he pointed into the corners of the basement. Sherlock strained his eyes to see the little green lights blinking on and off rhythmically in the gloom.

"The bombs from the car park." He realized.

"My friends inside got rid of the guards and closed Parliament's tours early, but I'm fairly certain the shock from these detonating at once will take care of the Parliament session going on." Moriarty boasted. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"There is no session today, it would have been run in the papers." He snapped. Jim rolled his eyes and stepped forward. He shook his hands around Sherlock's head like he wanted to choke him with a frustrated growl.

"You're so dull! I have connections, so I called them in. Didn't it ever occur to you that I have people who can call a pseudo-Parliament?" He sighed dramatically, "All of the right people, none of the real terms. Exactly what I was talking about again, you're trying too hard to be the hero. We've already clarified that you are no such thing, so why keep trying? You've got no reason to prove it." Madeline opened her eyes cautiously, waiting to hear Sherlock's response. When he didn't answer she slowly pushed herself upright and tried to focus on the blurs darting around her field of vision. Sherlock saw her and realized his time to stall had run out. He swiftly pulled his gun from his pocket and aimed it at Moriarty. Like clockwork, the criminal whipped out his gun as soon as Sherlock had, but instead of aiming it at the detective he blindly pointed it behind him at Madeline. She froze, her heart beating fast against her ribcage like a trapped rabbit.

"So it's come to that part of the showdown." Moriarty sighed. "The guns are out and the stalemate has been initiated. I would have pointed it at Dr. Watson but he's contained for the moment." He explained unnecessarily. Madeline's eyes flicked back to John and Mary. His wife had trained her gun on him once more while he helplessly watched the situation unfurl like a sail in rampant wind. Sherlock kept his gun aimed at Moriarty, and Moriarty kept his pointed at Madeline. The criminal smirked at Sherlock mockingly and shrugged.

"Sorry to say it but it looks like you've lost." He said. Sherlock's eyes raced around the confines of the basement quickly. He steadily removed his gun from Moriarty's direction and trained it on one of the blinking lights of the explosives.

"Or I could do that." He said coolly. John closed his eyes slowly and murmured a prayer while Jim huffed like he was impressed but miffed.

"Good wild card, but you'll be blowing up your blogger and your damsel. Are you a murderer, Sherlock Holmes?" He mocked.

"Come off it," Sherlock said, his voice reaching a dangerously low tone and pitch. "She's suicidal, look at her arms. Dying is the least of your worries, correct Miss Carver?" He asked. Madeline was having trouble keeping up with where the conversation was going, but she manages to make a semi-affirmative noise. Her chest began to constrict with panic as more black water poured through her body, bringing with it paralyzing waves of agony and fear. Sherlock nodded satisfactorily and turned to John, who nodded wordlessly to second Madeline's decision.

"Then we're all set. I'll count down from ten if I must. Drop your gun." Sherlock said coldly.

"What about the Parliament service?" Moriarty asked,

"As long as it takes you with me their lives are necessary." Sherlock returned without blinking. His nonchalance and ruthlessness was unnerving to Madeline, and with Moriarty's gun pointed at her there was little she could do without being shot on the chest.

"Eight," Sherlock said, and with a jolt Madeline realized that he'd already begun to count down. John shifted nervously and Mary flexed her fingers around her gun grip restlessly. Jim's mocking grin faltered for a second, then returned in full force.

"Then let's hasten the inevitable," He said, turning his head slightly to sneer at Madeline over his shoulder. Sherlock inhaled sharply but kept his gun pointed at the bomb.

"Seven." He said steadily as Moriarty's finger inched towards the trigger. Madeline shrank back, certain even a glancing wound from a gun would drain the rest of her blood from her body and kill her within minutes, not to mention a shot to the head's effectiveness on its own.

"See how prepared he is to let you die?" Moriarty crooned to her, "The mark of a true gentleman." Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly but he didn't remove his aim.

"Six." He intoned pointedly. Jim grinned.

"Don't!" John shouted as a loud bang echoed off of the pipes and metal. The sound made Madeline's head hurt and her vision jar itself like a television program with poor signal. When she blinked the noise out of her head she saw Moriarty's gun laying on the ground mere feet from Madeline's knees. The gun's owner doubled over, folding one of his hands between his chest and his stomach. Sherlock breathed a small sigh of relief as Jim stood up.

"Five." The detective said calmly.

"You _bitch_." Moriarty hissed, but it wasn't directed at Madeline. Mary lowered her smoking gun with a grimace and stared at her employer.

"I think I'm going to retire now." She stated firmly.

"I have names, I have contacts who would _love _to know your current alias. You and Dr. Watson might have some unexpected visitors soon." Jim growled through clenched teeth.

"Then I'll end it here." Mary said stoically. She slowly rotated her gun to face herself but John snatched it from her with a glare.

"Not until you explain everything to me." He snapped. "This is not my day, and I will _not_ be cleaning up any spilt blood or bodies. Like it or not and believe it or not you're still my wife." Moriarty released his hand and let it fall to his side, and Madeline was able to see where Mary had shot him.

A quarter sized bullet hole had punched through the webbing and muscle between Jim's thumb and pointer finger. The force of the bullet travelling through such a thin piece of skin had struck the side of the gun grip and forced it from Jim's hand. Sherlock exhaled and slowly lowered his gun to his side. Madeline used one of the pipes behind her to haul herself to her feet and leaned against it weakly. Mary slid her gun into a holster behind her back calmly and nodded at John. The doctor didn't need her say-so, as soon as the guns in the room went down he darted across the floor to Madeline and began to assess her injuries. Sherlock kept his gun out and at the ready as he stared Moriarty down.

"Two years." He said coldly. "Two years and this is the best you came up with. You could have at least made the game deeper." He added. Jim grimaced and cradled his wounded hand in the crook of his arm, then turned to Sherlock with a shrug.

"It don't get much deeper than the heart, Sherlock." He drawled in a false Southern accent. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tapped the barrel of his gun against his thigh impatiently.

"Well I hate to say it, but I think you're the one who had lost." He observed, Jim gave him an unamused look and slid his uninjured hand into his pocket with a sigh.

"Maybe, but not quite." He said, withdrawing his hand and wiggling a small panel button between two fingers. Sherlock swept his gun back up and cocked it.

"John!" He shouted. The doctor spun around from trying to staunch Madeline's hand and saw Moriarty holding the trigger in his hand. Mary jumped up and pulled a knife from her pocket she darted to the nearest bomb and fiddled with the wires until one of them snapped underneath her knife blade. Moriarty growled and spun around to face her.

"If you don't quit meddling it'll get even uglier for you." He snapped, slamming the button down, then pressing it frantically when the explosives didn't go off.

"So you used a complete bomb system." Sherlock observed. "If one's not connected the rest are useless. A control bomb or are all of them connected? Not a very wise choice, especially for someone like us." He added, taking one step forward and aiming the gun at Moriarty's forehead. The criminal huffed a laugh, shrugging his shoulders carelessly in the act.

"You can't kill me. Then there'll be no 'greater cause' for you to push towards. You'll be officially retired. You know why you can't retire from this?" He prompted.

"I don't need a greater cause, but do tell." Sherlock deadpanned. Jim grinned.

"It'll kill you. Your mind will slowly wear itself down and tear itself apart with all that energy and no true murder to solve. Eventually you might even put a bullet through your-"A loud gunshot cut across the criminal's words, choking him off midsentence. He swayed for a second before his legs crumpled beneath him and he toppled to the floor.

"Don't _ever_ say that." Madeline said shakily, clutching Moriarty's gun in her hands. Mary's bullet was firmly ingrained in the grip, making the gun hard to hold; not to mention the chills shaking Madeline's body and the blood making her hands slippery. John gently pried the weapon from her hands and waved his hand in front of her horrified face.

"I shot him. I killed him. Oh my God." She murmured, trying to cover her face with her hands but jerking away from herself when she remembered what coated her hands and arms. Sherlock did his best to wipe the shocked look from his face and stepped around Jim's body to hide him from view as best he could.

"We need to get her outside, and medical attention." John stated firmly, leaning Madeline against him and helping her stumble forward. Mary briskly walked to a panel on the wall and flipped a switch. The other half of the lights in the basement flickered to life.

"There's a lift over there, you should go." Mary said, pointing to an elevator boxed in by more pipes and wires. John leaned his head back and groaned.

"_Now _there's a lift. Where was this at first, Sherlock?" He snapped, helping Madeline to the door and pressing the button with his free hand. No motors sprang to life, no gears started turning.

"It's been disabled," The detective concluded. "So we used the maintenance hatch." He pressed the elevator's button again and scowled. "It seems we'll have to go back up the ladder."

Mary started up the ladder first, then Sherlock went. Madeline climbed up behind him, focusing her eyes on the rungs in front of her stained with her dried blood from her escape. John followed behind Madeline, ready to catch her should her strength give out. Sherlock helped Madeline out of the maintenance hatch, then pulled John out.

"Where's Mary?" He said, looking around for his wife. Mary had disappeared. Sherlock shrugged and grabbed for Madeline's wrist. She pulled back quickly, but gave him her hand when he extended his arm for it more gently. He examined the "M" carved into her skin that still oozed blood and frowned before turning her arm over and glaring at the lattice of red cuts branded onto her forearm.

"I killed him." She murmured. "Oh my God I'm a murderer."

"Self-defense," Sherlock said smoothly. "He would have killed us and detonated the bombs in the basement."

"Not to mention the Parliament session." John added.

"That he made up." Sherlock corrected him, ignoring John's flabbergasted look. "But he's gone now."

"But he's gotten out before, right? And- and he's survived gunshots before, too!" Madeline stammered, Sherlock placed a warm hand on top of her head to quiet her. Madeline wrung her hands in silence and looked up at him.

"If he escapes we'll just put him back again." Sherlock said firmly. "It's just a game he likes to play." Madeline's shoulders sagged as the sound of sirens reached her ears.

"We didn't call the police." Sherlock murmured.

"My cabbie probably did." Madeline said weakly, smiling faintly. She managed to stay standing until an ambulance arrived, then had to be hoisted inside and attached to a fluid IV when her legs gave out. Sherlock debriefed Lestrade's agents vaguely before following the ambulance to the hospital with John.

**A.N.- Hey readers from NC! If you guys are free this week feel free to visit me at IchibanCon at Concord Embassy Suites this Friday, January 2 2015. (I'll be dressed as Sherlock for the ball.) Again, I'm sorry. I meant to have this up by Christmas Day but it snuck up on me. This'll be my Boxing Day present! (No wait- crap that's over, too.) Um… New Year's? Yeah, New Year's! Happy New Year's, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to leave reviews.**


	32. Chapter 32

**A.N.- It's sad to say but I have a soundtrack for Sherlock and Madeline's relationship… any slow and sweet love song just makes me think of ways to throw them into a lovey dovey scene but it's not. In. Their. Characterization. Dammit! (Just some slow Ed Sheeran songs and stuff.)**

**I'm terribly sorry to the people near/ involved in/ hurt by the Charlie Hebden shooting. My heart goes out to you and I hope everyone's okay.**

**Grace- Oops, I wasn't trying to make you cry. I forgot about Mary's old line of work and by the time I remembered I was almost ready to write this so I just said "HA, I've got it!" and wrote her in. Thank you for your praise, it's very kind. ^_^**

**madqueen- Yay I was wondering where you were… although I thought you had two "d's" in your pen name. Yeah, Moriarty got what was coming to him. I'd been toying with the idea of Madeline shooting him since the beginning since his standoffs with Sherlock always seem to end with Sherry pointing a gun at him but not shooting. **

**AkatsukiShizu3- ….. was it a bad death? Sorry. I think Senor Appledore might come in at the end, and if there are enough fans asking for a sequel I might write one with him as the new villain. Perhaps. XD **

**I think this might be the last chapter, this one or one more after it. Thanks for sticking with the story for so long!**

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 32

Madeline woke up to the unfortunate view of a familiar hospital ceiling. She tried to sit up but her arms wouldn't move. A stroke of panic flashed through her system as she remembered the restraints she'd been under after her suicide attempt when Sherlock had jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. Madeline jerked her hands upwards and craned her neck down to see the white restraints wrapped snugly around her wrists again. She began to panic and pull at them anxiously.

"Madeline, calm down!" Someone said firmly. Madeline kept jerking her hands away from the bed to try and loosen the ties until a strong hand pinned her to the bed by her shoulder. She threw her head back, then looked to the side and saw Jim Moriarty leering at her. She fought back a scream and shut her eyes. When she opened them again he was gone and she was looking up at Sherlock instead.

"Madeline you need to calm down." He said shortly. "You're disturbing the entire hospital."

"Sherlock, why am I tied down?" She shrieked. "Tell them to let me go!" Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

"You're not in danger, but given what happened the last time you went through a- traumatic experience John and the other doctors thought it would safer." He explained, but Madeline didn't seem to hear him.

"Untie me! Let me go please!" She begged. The detective pressed his lips together into a thin line and shook his head.

"Not if you're going to act irrationally." He said calmly. "You're going to tear your stitches out if you continue to squirm." Madeline took deep, heaving breaths until her heart and breathing rates slowed to a pace just a little above normal.

"Please untie me." She said softly. Sherlock regarded her for a second then loosened the straps around her arms. Just like when John had untied her two years prior, Madeline sprang forward and wrapped her arms around Sherlock. The tears Moriarty hadn't allowed her to cry sprang to her eyes and ran down her cheeks, only to melt into the dark fabric of Sherlock's shirt. His shoulders tensed rigidly and he awkwardly tapped his hand on her back in what he hoped came across as a comforting manner. He desperately hoped John would get back soon and relieve the awkward situation; but at the same time tried to figure out how to diffuse the scenario.

_**Mind palace: Error,**_

_**Mind palace: Error,**_

_**Mind palace: Error,**_

_**Mind palace: Error.**_

_**Computing error.**_

_**Inconclusive.**_

Sherlock internally swore at himself and condemned his lack of knowledge in the area of sincere human interaction.

"I didn't think you'd ever find me." Madeline whispered into his shoulder. "I thought he was going to kill me." Sherlock racked his mind palace for something comforting to say, but instead came up with:

"I wouldn't dream of it." Madeline choked on something halfway between a sob and a laugh.

"What, not finding me or killing me?" She murmured, still resting her cheek on the detective's shoulder awkwardly. She could see an almost empty pack of cigarettes on the bedside table and a halfway filled ashtray on the windowsill littered with cigarette butts.

"Ah, both." He said after a second. Madeline pulled back from him and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, wincing as some of the cuts on her wrist and arm brushed in contact with her skin. Sherlock gingerly took her left hand in his grasp and turned it over gently. Madeline could feel the callouses on his hands, still rough from whatever he'd been doing in his two years of absence. He avoided touching the pristine white bandage hiding the "M" on her skin from view. It was going to leave an ugly scar, but he had the feeling Madeline already knew and refrained from mentioning it.

"How's she doing?" John asked softly, edging into the hospital room quietly but not bothering to minimize the noise the door made when he saw that Madeline was awake. He sat on the other side of Madeline's bed, choosing not to draw attention to Sherlock cradling her hand awkwardly. John handed Madeline a shallow plastic cup with her medication skidding around in the bottom. She stared blankly at the blue and black pills emotionlessly.

"You've been off of your medication for almost a week," John explained. "You need to take it, especially with what happened." Madeline pursed her lips and eyed it distastefully.

"We've arranged that you'll see a therapist for what's happened," John began.

"What, why?" She asked, leaning away from him a little bit. John held up his hand in a calming motion.

"Just listen; you'll see her twice a week. With the trauma you've had it's necessary." He said cautiously.

"I don't want a therapist. I don't _need_ a therapist." Madeline interrupted him.

"It's either that or constant supervision." Sherlock informed her coldly, narrowing his eyes in a way that provided little room for arguing. "Which would you rather choose?"

"I don't want to talk to anyone." Madeline said. She went to rub her wrists but remembered the stitches and band aids on them and resigned to grabbing her elbows and pulling her arms in towards herself. Sherlock frowned and sighed out of frustration.

"John fix it. Persuade her or do something to help." He snapped.

"I'm trying to," John said. "I can't just write a prescription and force her to see a therapist. Madeline, why won't you see one?" He asked her.

"I don't want anyone to see my scars, and I don't want to go back through it again." Madeline said in one breath. John reached across the bed comfortingly and Sherlock folded his hands in his lap wordlessly.

"That's part of healing." John said softly. "I'm not a therapist, but that will help." Madeline picked at the hem of the bandage on her left hand quietly for a few minutes; John and Sherlock sat in a rare silence while they waited for her answer.

"Yeah, okay." She relented quietly. John nodded in satisfaction and leaned back, pleased with her reluctant answer. Sherlock frowned and grabbed the cigarette pack with its few remaining cigarettes and left the room after tapping Madeline's right hand once in a semi-comforting gesture. She stared at the bed sheets and pinched the blanket over her legs between two fingers. She pulled a pill of fuzz off of the blanket and flicked it over the side of the bed, watching it fall softly to the floor. John nudged her cup of medicine towards her.

"Take those." He said firmly. Madeline gave up and swallowed the rancid pills, almost gagging at the taste. She could feel the tightness in her chest unknot itself, she'd grown so accustomed to the emptiness that she'd forgotten it was bad and still in residence. She sighed at the relieved feeling that slowly spread through her body and sank back into the pillows.

"How long was I missing?" Madeline asked John. She noticed with a pang that his wedding band was missing from his finger. He sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"About a week, we just about tore up London looking for you." He responded, laughing a little bit to try and lighten the mood. Madeline leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"That's comforting." She said. John smiled at her.

"Sherlock smoked about a pack of cigarettes a day after we found and hospitalized you. The nurses had to kick him out of the room because of the smoke." He added. Madeline frowned and pursed her lips again. John passed her the cup of water again and she drank all of it before continuing to speak.

"He's going to burn his lungs out one day." She said, "I'm going to quit giving him cigarettes."

"Says the person who gave him a pack for Christmas." John jibed. Madeline grinned at him while her eyelids started to become heavy.

"He'll be fine. Let him smoke what he has and then we'll make him go cold turkey." She murmured, intending to only close her eyes for a second but falling asleep as soon as they shut. John rubbed her knee kindly, then checked the monitors she was hooked up to and shut the blinds before leaving her to sleep.

. . .

Everyone seemed to visit. Molly Hooper and other scientists at St. Bart's stepped into Madeline's hospital room to give her their sympathy and good wishes. Even Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and his agents stopped by, although Donovan and Anderson seemed like they had better things to do. Madeline wasn't sure how much they knew about the ordeal with Moriarty and the attempted bombing so she kept her mouth shut and nodded politely at them, sometimes thanking them with sparse words. Sherlock disappeared and reappeared randomly, sometimes with a cigarette between his lips and sometimes with an angry rant about having no new cases.

John visited as often as he could between his shifts at the clinic, and he even began to take small shifts at St. Bart's to be closer. Madeline hadn't heard anything about him and Mary, but she assumed from the look on John's face when she'd brought it up once that it wasn't good; and she didn't see him wearing his wedding band either.

"You can't shoot the hospital walls." She told Sherlock, who was fuming about his boredom at a high decibel. "There's nothing stopping you from taking a case, I'm sure you've got tons waiting." Madeline added. Sherlock quit pacing around her hospital room and flopped into one of the visitor's chairs with a grimace.

"There are but they're all inconsequential and trivial." He argued. Madeline sat up in bed and crossed her legs.

"Then choose a bunch of small ones." She suggested, Sherlock rolled his eyes like she'd suggested something ridiculous.

"I'm busy." He complained. Madeline sighed and crossed her arms, mindful of her stitches.

"Really? You just said you were bored out of your mind. Busy with what?" She teased.

"Busy with your recuperation." He snapped, "The concerning aspects are in every corner of my mind palace. It's impossible to think." Madeline grew very quiet and reserved, staring down at her lap and the few remaining stitches on her arms. When she looked back up she was expecting Sherlock to have left but he was still sitting there, reading her expectantly. His eyes darted around the room quickly, reading Madeline's body posture and judging the apparent sincerity of her visitors by the kinds of flowers they left on her bedside table.

"So…" She said.

"Again if you're going to start a conversation have a clever topic to follow it up with." Sherlock reminded her absently as a nurse came into the room to hand Madeline her medicine for the day. She accepted the cup wordlessly and took the pills with a grimace. The nurse took her pulse and unwrapped Madeline's hand to inspect the wound. Madeline avoided looking at Sherlock as the nurse dabbed Neosporin on the injury, but she could feel his eyes on her. She did her best not to wince when the nurse rewrapped a new strip of gauze around her hand and even thanked the nurse when she left.

"Thank you again for looking for me." Madeline repeated, trying to initiate a conversation. Sherlock grunted and left without a word. Madeline sighed at the childish behavior and decided to flip through the magazines beside her bed lazily.

. . .

Though the summer months were approaching, Madeline still wore long sleeves. After the hospital had released her she'd still taken a couple of weeks off before going back to work, and she even began to wear gloves or gauze wraps to cover the scabs and tender scars of the "M" on her hand. She also unwillingly followed through on her promise to see a therapist, but she didn't enjoy it one bit.

Sherlock uncharacteristically insisted on accompanying Madeline to the therapist's office, and sometimes he would even wait for her during the session instead of going home; but waiting was immensely dull. Madeline stepped back into the empty waiting room once and found him trying to pour the contents of an alkaline and lithium battery together into the water dispenser. And another time she'd found him explaining a particularly horrific crime scene to a little boy with wide eyes and a furious mother. Madeline had resisted the urge to grab him by the hair and submit _him_ for therapeutic counseling but instead led him out by the sleeve to catch a cab back to Baker Street.

Although they had kissed at John's wedding, Madeline and Sherlock acted very aloof towards each other- much like they had been before they had admitted their feelings to each other at the reception. They stayed platonically amicable, and once in a while gave each other friendly gestures. Once at John's insistence Sherlock tried once to call Madeline "darling"; but she'd grown extremely pale and quiet as soon as he said it and Sherlock remembered that it had been Moriarty's pet name for her. After she'd calmed down he distracted her with the details of a small case he was working on, even though Madeline refused to have anything to do with his line of work after what had happened. She also tried to avoid mucking around with Sherlock's cases because the media had gone berserk after the news had broken about the bombs planted in Parliament's basement and Sherlock's involvement. Needless to say by extent the press knew Madeline and John were involved as well, and soon enough Madeline began to get vulgar mail from Sherlock's large following of fans in England that berated her for "allowing" herself to be kidnapped and for being so helpless. Sherlock asked her about the letters once and she told him very little but then the letters mysteriously stopped coming altogether, much to Madeline's relief.

Then the panic attacks started happening.

Madeline was in her lab when her first attack made itself known. Her heart started to beat fast and her chest became heavy. She didn't feel the symptoms that appeared when she didn't have her medicine, but the new symptoms were even scarier. Madeline's vision swung madly and she felt detached from her body.

"I'm going to die." She wheezed, staggering to the side a little bit and latching onto the edge of the counter to steady herself. After what seemed like hours her vision settled down and her breathing slowed down again. When she finally unclenched her fingers from the counter Madeline found that her hands were shaking and her head was pounding.

"I'm going crazy." She whispered to herself, sliding to the floor and digging in her pocket for her medicine and shakily pressing her pills into her mouth. After her hands had stopped trembling Madeline stood up and went back to work, but she was still shaken by the experience.

The next panic attack happened almost a week later when she was trying to make a plate of tea and coffee to take up to Sherlock's flat. Madeline was placing the cups on the tray meticulously and tugged at her sleeve to make sure it was down when her kitchen began to spin like a fairground ride and she could feel her chest begin to collapse on itself. Sherry produced a concerned look from the couch as her owner slid down the counter to the ground and tried to catch her breath. Madeline pressed herself against the cabinet and shut her eyes to try and block out her swirling eyesight, but it made her nauseous. She slowly dragged herself back to a standing position and stared blankly at the shattered cup on the floor beside where she'd been sitting. Madeline sighed and swept up the fragments then replaced the cup and quelled the panic still lancing through her randomly before taking the tray up to 221 B.

"You look pale." Sherlock remarked as Madeline nudged the door open. His violin was tucked firmly under his chin and his violin bow dangled delicately from his fingertips.

"I'm fine, just not really feeling well." Madeline answered, "Is John coming over?" Sherlock frowned at her before lifting his bow back to the strings and playing a small song on the violin. Madeline had forgotten how much she'd missed his playing after he'd disappeared.

"Soon." Sherlock answered, "His clinic hours would have been over by now, but since he's been working at Bart's the shifts are more unpredictable." Madeline tried not to look guilty as she passed Sherlock his cup of tea and tucked her feet underneath her as she settled into John's chair with her cup of coffee.

"You look awful." The detective stated. Madeline mimed a hurt face and went back to staring at her coffee cup.

"I'm serious." He continued. "You look like someone dragged you over rocks and fed you turpentine."

"Wow, you're more obnoxious than usual." Madeline observed. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"And you're edgier than usual." He returned without hesitation. "Why are your hands shaking?" He added. Madeline quickly set her coffee cup aside and clutched her hands together in her lap.

"The rattling of the cups and tray made it impossible to think." Sherlock continued snarkily, but after a second his look lost its hard edge. "Your pupils are small and shrunken, a significant change from the way they dilate when you're in proximity to me. What happened?" He asked blatantly.

"I don't know." Madeline said, "Everything was spinning and my chest felt like it'd been hit with a sledgehammer. I thought I was going to die." Sherlock scrutinized her blankly, reading the way her eyes moved around the room and her breathing pattern.

"A panic attack perhaps?" He deduced. Madeline shot him a quick look and he shrugged like it was the simplest answer he could think of. "It's a common side effect after stress and trauma. Was this the first time it's happened?" Madeline shook her head as Sherlock's look began to harden again.

"And you didn't think of letting me know? Or John?" He added quickly.

"I didn't know what was happening." Madeline said defensively. "I honestly thought I was either dying or hallucinating. Don't be so angry." Sherlock huffed and picked his violin up, then began to play on it indifferently. Madeline went back to staring at her lap and wished she'd brought Sherry with her as a distraction. Luckily she didn't have to wait in silence for long because John soon came back from work and tossed his bag onto the couch. Sherlock ignored him and kept playing on his violin.

"How's everything going?" John asked pointedly to try and solicit an answer.

"Ask Miss Carver." Sherlock said shortly. John turned to Madeline and raised an eyebrow but she was busy glaring in betrayal at Sherlock, who ignored her.

"Why? What happened, Madeline?" John asked, Madeline stared at her fingers again before deciding to answer him, she saw that the doctor's left ring finger was still empty.

"Sherlock said I had a panic attack." She said simply. Sherlock nodded his head and danced his fingers up and down the neck of the violin. John immediately whipped out a penlight and tried to shine it into Madeline's eyes. She flinched away from the light and pushed John's hand away.

"Don't." She said. John frowned at her and flicked the light on again.

"I'm going to. Deal with it." He said shortly. Sherlock made an approving noise and Madeline glared at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Your antidepressants should lower the risk of those. Did you fall?" John asked, checking Madeline's hand while she continued to scowl at Sherlock.

"No I didn't." She answered.

"She did." Sherlock said blandly. John made a frustrated sound and began to check Madeline for bruises.

"Your therapist can help with preventing more panic attacks." He said. Madeline frowned and Sherlock drew the bow across the strings with a final high note.

"You're being unmanageably difficult." The detective stated tonelessly. "John and I are trying to help you recover but you're making it impossible by refusing help. On any other terms you'd never be quiet, but now all of the sudden you can't seem to get coherent words out." Madeline didn't answer him, so Sherlock turned to John with an overly-polite smile and said,

"So, any news from Mary yet?" John's frown deepened into a scowl as he tossed the penlight back into his bag.

"She's fine. She's staying at our flat." He said shortly.

"What, really? Why? Why is she there?" Madeline asked. John sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

"It's a long story, but she's still my wife." He admitted. Sherlock grunted nonchalantly, and John scowled at him. "You'll know what it means, Sherlock. I married her because I loved her. You'll get it, I guess."

"What?" Madeline asked, Sherlock sighed and stood from his chair.

"Doing something you don't understand for someone you love." John said quickly, ignoring the pained and aggravated looks Sherlock and Madeline gave him. "It sounds like a fairy tale line, but I'm not kidding Sherlock. It's no surprise I'm not happy with her- hell I'm still furious she lied to me- but there's nothing I can do about it now." The detective rolled his eyes and mimed stifling a yawn, and Madeline said nothing and stared at the doctor's hand.

"But you're letting her stay in your flat. You're not at all afraid she'll slit your throat while you're sleeping?" The detective said snidely.

"_Sherlock._" Madeline reprimanded him with wide eyes. He huffed and reached for a pack of cigarettes angrily, but John stopped him and took the pack away.

"Smoke can bring on panic attacks." The doctor said tersely. "If you care you'll quit smoking." Sherlock opened his mouth to give an angry retort but Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat from the doorway.

"Sorry dears, am I interrupting anything?" She asked sweetly, Madeline shook her head slightly and the old woman nodded with a smile, knowing full well what she'd walked into.

"John, Mary is here." The landlady said kindly. John cut his eyes to Sherlock and sighed, then tramped down the stairs to speak with his wife. Mrs. Hudson left Madeline and Sherlock with a maternal smile and shut the door behind her as she retreated downstairs. Madeline busied herself with cleaning up the tray she'd hoped would spark a nice conversation between her and Sherlock and the detective drummed his fingers on his knee irately. Madeline hesitated before quickly grabbing Sherlock's teacup from beside him and placing it back on the tray. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly and frowned at her.

"Next time you feel short of breath or feel a panic attack coming on let us know. You could fall and hit yourself." He said shortly. Madeline acknowledged him with a nod of her head and took the tray back to her flat. She passed John and Mary talking animatedly in low tones at the bottom of the stairs on the way. They grew quiet when they passed her, so Madeline quickly continued down the hall and made sure to return the tray to pleasant Mrs. Hudson before taking the cups back to her flat.

. . .

After another panic attack in the middle of the street Sherlock and John both demanded that Madeline move back into John's old room again, and after Sherlock subtly changed the locks on her apartment she agreed. Unfortunately the new living scenario was incredibly awkward as Sherlock grew increasingly irritable without his cigarettes. He continued to take small and petty cases, and Madeline still refused to have anything to do with them. Apparently John and Mary had reconciled together and had come to terms with Mary being previously employed by the world's only consulting criminal, and they stopped by frequently.

There was one morning where Madeline was attempting to shower in peace before work when she smelled something burning. A second later the smoke alarm began to beep in two alternating tones repeatedly. Madeline panicked and felt around for her towel blindly, only to find it missing.

"Sherlock!" She shouted, "Where's my towel?"

"I needed it to smother the fire!"

"What fire?"

"The one engulfing the kitchen. Stay there I'll take care of it!" Sherlock called up the hall before laughing madly and darting into another part of the flat. Madeline huffed and paced in the bathroom.

"I'm stuck in here!" She shouted. "Give me back my towel or I'll use the shower curtain!"

"It's that or a charred and blackened flat and an eviction notice!" Sherlock called back to her. Madeline growled and began tugging at the shower curtain as the smoke alarm began to shrill. A loud gunshot ricocheted through the flat and it fell silent.

"Did you just shoot the fire alarm?" Madeline shouted, stumbling down the hall with the floral shower curtain wrapped around and trailing behind her like a wedding dress. She waved her hand through the smoke and frowned.

"Give me that." She snatched her sooty and burnt towel from an even sootier Sherlock. "What were you doing?" She snapped.

"Mixing boric acid and antifreeze with a little bit of sulfur to see how the temperature fluxuates." Sherlock said, almost beaming and looking very pleased with himself over the experiment's results. Madeline huffed and walked back down the hall.

"This is why we can't have nice things." She scolded him after she'd dressed appropriately, "You shot the fire alarm!" Sherlock shrugged and reached for his violin. Sherry made a keening noise as Madeline opened the window to let the smoke air out of the flat.

"The smoke didn't bring on a panic attack." Sherlock observed from behind her. Madeline gathered up her things for work and grabbed her medicine.

"You set fire to the flat to see if I'd have a panic attack." She summarized flatly. Sherlock tucked his violin under his arm and twirled his bow between his fingers as he strolled around the flat.

"But it didn't." He said smugly. "Which means you're getting better." Madeline gave him a confused look and he ignored her. "Which means whatever I'm doing is working." He added hastily, kicking open the door and nodding towards it pointedly. Madeline marveled at the mania feeling that began to creep through her system. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the manic swings.

"Setting the flat on fire is a little far, but thanks." She said, trying to put words together to express the mania swinging through her head and making her want to giggle. Madeline boldly reached up and kissed Sherlock before stepping back, then kissing him on the cheek briefly and darting down the stairs. She didn't stay long enough to see if the detective would reciprocate or react, but she had a feeling that he was secretly pleased.

. . .

Madeline's panic attacks began to lessen in frequency and severity. She began to feel when an attack was coming on and could almost always lower herself to the ground or into a chair to wait out the asphyxiating waves of terror that still left her breathless and scared.

John and Mary visited often, and after their first few visits Madeline's tense attitude towards Mary diluted itself into an awkward mix of gratitude and acquaintanceship. Sherlock smirked every time he saw them walk through the door.

"I'm pregnant." Mary said breathlessly on an afternoon in late July. Madeline raised her eyebrows and looked to John for affirmation from Sherlock's chair. He nodded, and she turned to look at Sherlock. The detective was busy oxidizing something in the kitchen with a smug expression.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" Madeline deadpanned.

"For weeks." He returned, not bothering to look up from his work. "Out of my chair." He added absently. John huffed and scuffed his shoe at the carpet. Mary smiled warmly and subconsciously placed her hands on her stomach, making the small bulge underneath her shirt more evident. Madeline congratulated them and Mrs. Hudson insisted on bringing up a tray of tea to celebrate. Sherlock continued to work on whatever he was doing until it started to emit a smell like burning rubber and John and Madeline had to coax him out of the kitchen. Sherry stalked out of John's old room and wound herself around Mary's ankles affectionately while they talked. Sherlock did his best to remain civil but kept giving Madeline pointed glances that entailed how much he wanted to get back to his experiment.

As soon and John and Mary had left Mrs. Hudson collected her tray and retreated as well, leaving Madeline to fill out paperwork and Sherlock to continue with his test.

"Miss Carver, would you run these samples for me?" He asked a little too kindly after only a few moments of silence. He shook a bag of what looked like nail clippings in Madeline's direction; she frowned at him.

"No. I'm not doing anything with your crime scenes." She said flatly, tapping a stack of papers together and stowing them in a manila folder. Sherlock huffed and shook the bag again, pasting his smile back onto his face rather painfully.

"Miss Carver. Would you please run the samples?" He asked again, sounding constrained and overly polite. "Otherwise you're obstructing a police investigation."

"No, Sherlock. I said I won't. Learn your boundaries." Madeline repeated. The detective smiled painfully at her and waved the bag fervently above her head until she sighed and snatched it from him.

"What are these?" She asked, not willing to open the bag and inspect its contents without forewarning.

"Toenails from a seventeen-year-old out of Wales." He said.

"Why are you taking a case from Wales?" Madeline asked, Sherlock shrugged.

"Bored." He said tonelessly. Madeline pursed her lips and scribbled the information about the samples on the bag, then stowed it away with her things to take to work the next day.

Her hand brushed against her medicine bottle and she remembered that it was almost time for her next dose. Madeline took the pills and expected the speck of black in the middle of her chest to dissolve, but it stayed there and seemed to pulsate and emanate cold waves that increased in intensity. Madeline flipped her pencil around in her fingers and took deep breaths to calm herself down as she felt the cold feeling grow a little bigger. Her medicine normally worked, but when it didn't there was no telling if the bad feelings would stay and grow or be replaced by normal feelings or a mania swing.

Madeline flipped her pencil around so that the metal cap that anchored the bright pink eraser to the wood of the pencil rested against her palm. She could feel it slightly through the gauze she'd put on that day in place of a glove and twitched her fingers a little to let the metal piece slide down a little to her wrist and glide over the inside of her wrist gently. She moved her fingers again and applied a little more pressure as the metal cap made another pass at her wrist. Madeline looked out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock tentatively and made sure he was engrossed in his work before scraping the end of the pencil against her skin again. The watery pain felt good, it hurt but it was warm and cut through the cold water that felt like small icy tendrils pushing through Madeline's chest. She took a second and traced the "M" on her hand over the gauze bandages with the pencil tip, not really caring that the graphite left a faint gray "M" on the pristine white bandage.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock said coldly. Madeline jerked back from the desk and dropped the pencil, spinning to face him out of surprise. He was wearing an expression that was a mixture of anger, disappointment, and something else. The detective didn't move forward or grab her wrist to inspect the shallow cut Madeline had made, it looked like she'd tried to arm wrestle with a thorn bush and hadn't done well but it wasn't serious. Instead he regarded her with an almost disdainful look, and Madeline found herself recoiling guiltily from his glare. She could feel her chest compressing like it was in a vice and balled her hands on her lap to steady herself. She took deep breaths to steady her racing heartbeat, although her chest spasmed slightly as she tried to regulate a lesser amount of air than her body was asking for. Sherlock's frown held a small edge of concern as Madeline straightened herself up and looked him boldly in the eye while holding her panic attack back. They just stood there in the most awkward fashion until Madeline could breathe properly again and sat back in the chair to allow more air to her lungs.

"You're being ridiculous." Sherlock remarked snidely. "What were you thinking?" Madeline stayed quiet and stared at the faint "M" the pencil had traced onto her gauze. "You're not seeking attention are you?" Sherlock asked coldly, "Because that's insultingly petty of you."

"Of course I'm not." Madeline snapped back at him. Sherlock folded his arms over each other firmly and scowled.

"Then you need to help yourself. John and I have tried multiple times by prescribing medications to you and even recommended a therapist to you- against my better judgment, might I add- if you won't let us help you then it's up to you." He stated. Madeline felt herself growing angry with him, despite the small shard of logic embedded in his statement.

"And your silence is even more aggravating." Sherlock continued, Madeline just kept staring adamantly at her hands, not quite sure what to say.

"Sorry." She murmured, earning her a scoff from Sherlock.

"Obviously not or you'd be making a better effort to not scratch yourself up." He said sharply. When Madeline still didn't answer him he growled out of frustration.

"At least occupy your mind with something to keep your thoughts busy." He said. "I've found that to be a viable pastime when my mind palace gets too crowded with simpleminded things."

"Okay." Madeline answered. Sherlock nodded at her and passed her the bag of samples.

"If you'd like you can start by running those for me as I'd asked." He suggested in an overly polite voice. Madeline stood quietly and made her way to the door with her paperwork and the bag of samples and left. When she was walking down the sidewalk someone shouted at her. Madeline looked up and saw Sherlock leaning out of the open window with the most ridiculous and rare smile on his face.

"When you finish with those tell John to meet me at the location I'm going to text him. I might have some leads on the case." He shouted to her.

"Got it!" She shouted back, giving Sherlock a thumbs up and finally regaining her voice. She ignored the people giving her disapproving glances for shouting in the street and hurried to Bart's. A couple of people recognized her, and Madeline made sure to ignore them and keep her shirt sleeves down and her left hand in her pocket.

. . .

"Sherlock?" Madeline called, stepping into 221 B and looking around for the detective. She wondered if he and John had returned from whatever they were investigating. It was past the normal time she got home; Madeline had stayed later to run Sherlock's samples for him. She threw her bag onto the couch and hung on to the sample files.

"Sherlock? I've got your results. Your guy is Liam Kensington, and I think you might want to see this." She said, walking around the kitchen and living room and calling down the hall. Sherlock didn't answer, so she assumed he was out with John.

Madeline felt a mania swing nudging at the back of her mind and decided not to take her dose of medicine and let the good feelings soar. She was confident it wouldn't turn into a depression swing and in the event that it did she kept her medicine in her pocket. Madeline frowned at the messy flat that had gotten worse since she'd left earlier. Apparently Sherlock had torn the place apart while looking for something or thinking out loud. Madeline huffed and hauled her radio up from her flat to Sherlock's and turned the music up like she liked it. Sherlock complained about it when she played her music loudly but had no qualms against playing the violin loudly at two in the morning or shooting the walls; so Madeline relished in finally being able to play her music loudly.

She spun her hair into a lazy bun and started tossing clothes into piles of "dirty", "clean", "almost clean", and "from the homeless network". She started a load of clothes to wash and stacked up baskets of clothes to fold. When she got to the papers and items scattered over the desks Madeline decided to leave them alone and spare herself an irritated scolding from Sherlock about how everything was in its proper place. She opened the windows, not really caring if her music spilled out into the street and detached Sherry and her claws from Sherlock's chair. Then Madeline started to fold the shirts she'd dried and dropped them in neat piles on the couch behind her. She spun around giddily as her mania swing took hold in time to the music. One of her favorite songs pushed itself through the radio and she swayed around the flat happily, trailing one of her shirts behind her like a dance partner and laughing at the endorphins flowing through her system and making her chest feel full of air.

"You look utterly ridiculous. Quit it." Sherlock snapped from the doorway. Madeline opened her eyes mid-spin and stopped short facing Sherlock.

"Oh you're back." She said quickly. He crossed his arms and gave her a scrutinizing look.

"One of the best statements you've made yet." He said over the music. Madeline hurried to the radio and turned it down, fading the song into background noise.

"Sorry. I decided to clean." She answered defensively. Sherlock's look became dangerous for a second as he surveyed the flat.

"You didn't touch my experiments or files," He said rhetorically, Madeline shook her head and grinned.

"No, I know better than that." She said, giggling a little foolishly. Sherlock cut her a strange look and sighed.

"You're not on your medicine." He observed.

"Nope!" Madeline chimed, "It's been too long since I've had a mania swing, and I'm going to enjoy it to its fullest." Sherlock "m-hmmed" and eyed the shirt she'd been dancing with.

"Like I've said before you look ridiculous when you're dancing." He said coldly. Madeline swung the shirt at him and he leaned back with a surprised expression to avoid it.

"You're the one who danced with me at John's wedding." She said sulkily. "Remember you kept stepping on my feet when I tried to teach you to dance." Sherlock pursed his lips like he was thinking heavily and finally snatched the shirt from Madeline.

"Under normal circumstances you'd be extremely irritating right now." He snapped. Madeline cocked her head to the side so much Sherlock thought she'd break her neck.

"Normal circumstances?" She asked.

"You're boring." He answered quickly. Madeline laughed and grabbed her shirt back, folding it and dropping it onto one of the piles on the couch.

"Right, and you happened to kiss this boring person more twice of your own accord." She jibed, Sherlock steeled himself and moved forward. When Madeline turned around again he was right in front of her, and his lips were very close to hers. He looked at her for a second, and she bit her lip to keep her expression in check. When Sherlock leaned in closer Madeline burst into laughter and had to step away from him to reign herself in.

"I'm trying to be romantic." Sherlock snapped. Madeline bent over, still giggling, and waved her hand at him disconcertingly.

"Don't worry about it. I don't think I could deal with you if you acted all sappy and 'normal'." She panted, still snickering a little bit. Sherlock gave her a flat look.

"It was John's idea anyway." He said. Madeline finally calmed herself down and was able to look at the detective without breaking into laughter for a good period of time. Sherlock stepped into his mind palace and tried to think of another affectionate or romantic gesture he could skillfully execute without shooting himself in the foot or wanting to shoot a wall. He held out his hand expectantly, and Madeline stared at it for a second.

"You're making the situation tense." Sherlock said tersely, snapping his fingers in a "hurry up" manner. Madeline gingerly slid her hand into his and stepped closer to him, her manic swing made her want to bounce around with excitement but she just shifted her weight from one foot to another restlessly.

"Quit it." Sherlock reprimanded her, putting his hand on her waist in an effort to take up what he remembered as the proper dance position and to hold her still. Madeline automatically put her hand on his shoulder and strained her ears for the faint song she'd turned down in the background.

"You have the most unorthodox taste in music." Sherlock commented to break the faint silence punctuated by faint notes of music. Madeline puffed her cheeks up and blew air out of them slowly.

"Is anything you say _not_ an insult or crude?" She asked. Sherlock blinked for a second before shrugging the question off and continuing to sway in rhythm with the song.

"I can if I want to." He said finally, pulling Madeline out of her thoughts.

"Do what?" She asked absently. He frowned at her and she smiled back.

"You know what-"Sherlock growled, letting his efforts at being charming slide. He leaned down and kissed Madeline firmly on the lips. Her mouth curved into a smile underneath his as her mania intensified to such a high level she thought she'd start crying from sheer joy.

She took her hands from Sherlock's hand and shoulder and reached up to pull him closer to her. He was startled by the increase in contact but didn't entirely resent it, either. He carefully made note of the strange feelings coursing through him and filed it away in his mind palace in an area that would be easy to access again. When they leaned away from each other to catch their breath Madeline grinned at him.

"Thanks by the way for looking for me." She said softly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You've said that already." He reminded her. She leaned into him a little bit and the detective tried not to panic.

"Yeah but I wanted you to know that I mean it." Madeline answered, when she looked up she saw that Sherlock's pupils had expanded quite a bit, and he noticed that hers had dilated too.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, stumbling up the staircase out of breath and bursting into the flat. Madeline jerked out of surprise, and Sherlock froze like deer in headlights. When John had caught his breath he grinned before frowning at Sherlock, who'd stepped away from Madeline.

"You left me back there!" He said. "Yeah congratulations on the case and all but you could have at least stayed there to explain everything to Lestrade."

"You solved it?" Madeline asked.

"The boy from Wales was in an animal smuggling ring, simple execution murder." Sherlock said plainly, sparing her the details she didn't want to hear.

"Yeah well I thought you should know," John said, "Someone dropped a package outside after you came in and before I got here. Your brother has also been spamming my phone because he can't reach you. Where were you?"

"I was busy." Sherlock said shortly. Madeline smiled at the ground, still feeling her mania swing making her want to jump on the couch and slide around in her socks. John hid his accusing smile by rubbing at his mouth with his hand.

"Anyway. We've got another case." He said. Sherlock looked at him with interest and raised his eyebrows.

"Do tell. Explain." He deadpanned. John sighed and pulled out his phone.

"You'd know if you'd been checking your phone." The doctor said. "It's Mycroft, so it must be a big one." Madeline saw the exuberant grin slide onto Sherlock's face that seemed to match her mania. The euphoric feeling vanished quickly when she remembered Sherlock's line of work and how much she tried to avoid it.

"Miss Carver we might need your expertise on the case. If my brother's involved that means it's something important." The detective said lowly. "Would you accompany us there?" Madeline picked at the gauze on her hand nervously, uncertain if she wanted to involve herself in death again.

"Sherlock don't. The therapist wouldn't like it, you're not going to help like that." John intoned.

"I was against the therapist from the start." Sherlock snapped.

"Okay! I'll be fine, we'll go." Madeline interrupted. "I'll help if I can." John nodded grimly, and Madeline noticed he was wearing his wedding band again. Sherlock seemed to look at her with a prideful expression as he grabbed his coat and scarf. August was ending, and September was just around the corner with its dropping temperatures. John bounced impatiently by the door as Sherlock pulled on his gloves and made a "come on" motion to Madeline. She made sure her sleeves were pulled down and tugged on them first for affirmation. Then she joined John and Sherlock and they walked down to the street. Sherlock raised his hand to hail a cab, and Madeline grinned as the vehicle pulled up to the curb. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at her skeptically.

"What?" He asked as John climbed into the cab first. Madeline shrugged and climbed in after the doctor. Sherlock sat on her other side and gave the cabbie directions.

"Nothing." She said finally, fighting back a smile and earning a curious look from Sherlock. "The game is on."

_**Finis**_

**A.N.- Thank you to everybody for supporting this story since September (do you remember~…) I'm deeply grateful for everyone who commented, Beta'd, and followed the story through all the weirdness and the fluff so thick I think they had to get the Epi-Pens out. **

**Gratzi to my neighbor down the hall RomeoBlack123 and my Beta shadajoserj. Please go check out their items as well as my awesome roommate RavenclawStarkid13.**

**Does anyone want a sequel? I have a couple ideas (Appledore and Richard, etc) but of course I won't write it if nobody's gonna read it. Well, I'd write it I just wouldn't publish it. XD**

**Thank you all and arrivederci! **

_**UPDATE- DUE TO THE REQUESTS ALREADY COMING IN THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL. ITS NAME WILL BE THA DAME OF BAKER STREET 2: MIND GAMES. I PLAN TO HAVE THE FIRST CHAPTER UP BY 1/10/15.**_


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